Painted Blind
by TheGlassKnight
Summary: Blindness is anything but a curse. To Felt, being born blind is a blessing in which you feel all your truest emotions straight to heart, and your eyes never deceive you. So is it true love when she falls for Dally Winston, her dead lover's best friend?
1. Chapter 1

**First Dallas Winston fanfiction ever. Please review and subscribe! :} **

**-TheGlassKnight**

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><p><em>Life hits you once. Death hits you once. Reality hits you millions of times. So why do people fail to predict its punches?<em>

-TW

One

Back to Tulsa, Oklahoma. I had waited four long, tiring, desperate years for this day, and it had finally, finally come. Tulsa was a special place for me. It held all my most precious and scary memories. With my head halfway out the window, tasting the fresh summer breeze and feeling the honey sun trickle on my slender limbs was enough to drive me crazy. I could smell Tulsa in the summer air, and I could almost feel God beaming down on me, whoever he is, and whispering in the wind that I was home at last. I'd loved living in Florida, but it didn't taste like Tulsa. It was like living a terrible beach party over and over again.

Despite the fact that my father had a heart attack in Tulsa, and the town held so many memories of him that my mom had a break down and move in with her mother, there are many reasons why I love Tulsa with all of my heart.

Back in Tulsa, I had the best life a girl could've wanted. I had a happy, crazy mother, and an even happier, crazier father, both of whom loved me very well. I had two little pets, one kitten and one dog, who were as sweet as sugar and as bubbly as sodapops, hence their names, Sugar and Soda. I had three of the best friends in the whole wide world, Amber Anne, who always wore sweaters with cottony wool that I loved to pinch, Beatrix the Bee, who was happy and always smelled like an odd and intriguing mix of lavender and pumpkin, and Johnny Cade, who always smelled like sunshine and denim.

My face almost turned into the sun, the way I began blushing like crazy.

You might be curious as to why I sniff my friends, and let me tell you, if I was in your place, I would be, too. But I'm not like other girls. Not only do I not give a cow poop about my appearance, and not only do I have the confidence of an ant trotting through a crowded party, but I'm blind. I was born blind. So I see the world slightly different than other people. I'll explain more later.

Anyways, back to Johnny Cade.

He was the best of my best friends. I never saw him, of course, but I pictured him being like an apple tree: small, quiet, humble, but bold enough to bear fruits and kind enough to allow others to pick them. We'd known each other so well, that when he found out I had to move, he was pretty devastated. That was part of the reason I was so excited to start life back in Tulsa. I wanted to see him, which obviously means, in my case, I wanted to inhale his whole essence and taste his lips and feel his fingers around mine…and I wanted him to see me, too, with his eyes, and (hopefully) see how mature I'd gotten...  
>I almost scorned myself out loud at those thoughts. What was I thinking?He was probablyseventeen years old now. Johnny probably had grown as much as I had, maybe even more. He would be taller, for one thing. And his shoulders would feel so much more broader from when he was fourteen. He would've gained confidence, whereas I haven't. He would've met other girls, ones with eyeballs that actually work…shoot, he must've forgotten me already, because he stopped writing a year ago…<p>

My heart slumped and my body followed. I could feel the coolness of shadows draping over my face. It was a huge possibility. Johnny did grow up, and that meant other girls did too…But then why didn't my soul buy it?

I knew Johnny Cade too well, that's why.

Time flew by, maybe thirty minutes or an hour. I couldn't tell, because my mind was thinking of how I would try my best to act mature around Johnny, and how I hope my mother wasn't lying when she told me my skirt looked fine, and how I prayed to all saints on Earth that my hair didn't look too windblown. It works for models, apparently, but not for actual, normal humans.

"We're almost to Tulsa," Mom suddenly called from beside me, and we curved a sharp right. Immediately, I heard more birds singing, more dogs barking, more cars roaring by, and my face suddenly felt like the sun.

"Felt?" Mom called. "Honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," I lied, trying to stick my head further out the window to catch some air.

"No you're—honey, pull your head out of the window! I think all that air is wearing your face out! You're pink!"

"Pink?"

"Yes," Mom said slowly. "Pink. The color of shy."

Okay, I know you're wondering how I can see colors. It's very simple. When I was little, I used to get so fed up with not being able to see colors like other kids, that one day, I broke down in tears. That same night, my clever, clever father, strummed up a new method of seeing colors. He told me this: Red is the color of strong anger and strong love, orange is the color of health, yellow is the color of joy, green is the color of growth and life, indigo is the color of thoughts, violet is the color of royalty and magic, pink is the color of shyness, black is the color of the night, white is the color of purity and calmness, and brown is the color of the soil and nature. That helped me a lot, but Dad couldn't seem to find a word to describe blue. It was sweet Johnny that told me blue is the color of my dreams and all things unexplainable. I took his word so seriously that I nearly punched the person who told me he's feeling "blue" when really, he's feeling sad and black.

For the next five minutes I tried to calm my nerves down by channeling the color white through my veins. Suddenly, when the car stopped, and powered down, the excitement bubbled out of me. As quick as ever, I popped open the van door and hopped out, hearing Soda, my dog (Sugar the cat lives with my grandmother) bark frantically at my sudden leave. I wanted to run into the new house, which I'd already been around a million times, and drop of my stuff so that I could run out and find Johnny. But apparently, God had other plans, because immediately I stepped on something shifty, like an uneven brick, and my body collapsed forwards.

"Felt!" Mom called, and I could hear her unbuckling her seatbelt. Soon she was pulling me up and turning over my arms, and I could feel her burning gaze as she examined me for bruises.

"Aw, cut it out, Mom," I said, pulling away. "I just fell. Big deal."

I think ever since Dad died, Mom was always jumpy and over protective. I know that she recovered from her breakdown, but that part of her will always remain.

She read paces out to me. I walk according to clock motions. And thanks to the great invention of a brail watch, I know that twelve o'clock is right ahead, and six o'clock is right back. So, all in all, my directions sound a bit like "fifteen paces, two o'clock" and so forth. I'm never perfect with my paces, but that's what Soda's trained to help me with.

I lugged my two suitcases twelve paces at twelve o'clock with Soda's furry tail knocking my knee with every wag. Then, as we lumbered inside the one-flat house with cold tiles and dusty wooden tables, Mom couldn't refrain herself from telling me rules.

"No parties," she said firmly, and I groaned, but she pretended not to hear me. "No sleep overs—I don't want you falling down stairs. No late-night dates, we all know how those end."

"Mo-o-om," I groaned, and Soda whimpered.

"How about we just leave it at 'no boys' period? That would save me a lot of trouble. And no study sessions, because I know exactly what sessions _those _are, and—"

"Mom, please," I begged, aiming to sit on the velvet sofa, and missing the center by a foot. "I won't do anything that stupid. And there are no boys I'm interested in! So please, relax."

"No boys, hm?" Mom said with an odd puzzled tone in her voice. I could feel her mischievous smile on her lips, and when I traced her lips with my fingers, I felt it too. I braced myself…and then—

"What about that cutie-patootie? Johnny Cade?"

I was pretty sure my face was 'pink' all over. Every time I tried to convince my mom that I wasn't interested in dating boys in my school, the Johnny Cade talk would come. It was almost the same all the time: "What about that cutie, Johnny Cade?" or "How about that sweetheart, Johnny Cade?" And I always ended up burning my face off in flames.

The Johnny Cade talk passed, without my victory of staying calm. I ate an early dinner and begged my mom to tour Tulsa. After much persuasion, she let me go, but only because I lied and told her that I remembered everything about the town.

I took Soda with me, and he licked me while I hastened his leash on his furry neck, because he was itching to get back the taste of Tulsa. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, still clad in the same clothes I arrived in, and placed a thumb print on Soda's forehead, which meant "lead the way outside."

Tulsa is a complicated city. It's a beautiful mix of country and city. The wind from a car and the wind from the skies is a perfect blend. Just the feel of the sunset sky's sun bleeding onto my skin was enough to remind me of Johnny Cade, who dug sunsets and sunrises more than any other guy. And just the roar of a Mustang (I recognized the sound of them right away) was enough to make my heart get squeezed by a cold, chilly fist.

You see, back when I was in Tulsa, I was middle-class. Meaning, I wasn't a Soc, the rich, West-side kids, or a Greaser, the poorer, East-side kids. Thankfully, I lived most of my life in Tulsa with innocence, meaning I didn't know that the town was filled with social classes. But that was before I'd met Johnny Cade. He was the one who told me all about the social classes. My parents didn't care what class he was, so long as he was kind to me. Johnny used to tell me stories of Greasers and all about his friend, Dallas Winston. Those stories used to make me so scared, and I constantly told Johnny not to hang out with Dallas anymore. But he would only put his hand on my shoulder and say in his quiet voice, "No, Dally's okay." And I'd never dig the fact that he still hung with him. But what scared me more was the Socs. They were constantly terrorizing Johnny, who was only nine and already had enough problems of his own.

The Mustang blew its horn at something I didn't know, and Soda barked angrily before letting me cross the street. I slid my sunshades further up my nose and began praying like crazy that the social classes didn't exist anymore.

That began the search for Johnny Cade. I began asking random people on the street if they knew Johnny Cade. But the weirdest thing happened. No one told me. Either they walked away, which was cruel, because I was blind, and never knew they left, or they grunted and patted my arm before saying they had to go.

I soon found Johnny's old house, but to my terrible dismay, it was completely deserted. The wood was unpainted and chipped, and I could smell the hollowness that resided in the walls. My heart sunk and drowned, and I felt like I could burst out in tears. But I refused to cry, because for all I knew, Johnny could've just moved and still be in Tulsa.

The air started getting colder, and I knew that my roaming period was coming to an end, but I couldn't stop searching. I asked Soda to lead me further in to streets, and he did. I walked for another fifteen minutes, my heels hurting and my ankles close to swollen. I continued walking on what seemed like an endless sidewalk, until suddenly, Soda stopped to a halt. I almost fell over him.

"Soda?" I asked him in a whisper. "What's wrong?"

He made a funny whimper, as if he was seeing something he couldn't believe. And then, without warning, he staring sprinting away, barking excitedly. I felt my heart soar. Soda was never this happy…unless Johnny was around!

Soon, Soda got out of control. He ran so fast that I was practically being dragged behind him, and I tried to tell him to stop and run slower, but he wouldn't listen. Pretty quickly, the leash snapped off of my wrist, and Soda ran out of my reach.

"Soda!" I called. But his barking faded.

I ran after him really quickly, bumping into a few people. Soon enough, I bumped into something silky and warm, and it licked me. It was Soda!

I knelt down and scratched his ears. "Soda, don't run like that ever again! What got into you? You almost gave me a heart attack. Say you're sorry."

He licked my face. Good enough.

But when I got up and started to slowly jog away to get home, I bumped into someone almost immediately.

"Oh, sorry," I mumbled.

"Hey, watch where you're goin'!" the person scolded. By the deep voice, I could tell it was a man.

At that moment, I could've pointed out that I couldn't watch where I was going, because I was blind, but instead, I repeated again, slightly aggravated, "I said I'm sorry."

There was a long pause, and I could feel the person still blocking my path. Then, something warm blew across my face. It took me a few sniffs to realize it was smoke. Whoever was in front of me blew their cigarette smoke right in my face. I began coughing. "Listen, man, I said I'm sorry," I sputtered out, and Soda began to bark angrily. I patted his silky head and began grinding my teeth out of anger.

"Well," the voice said, sounding slightly amused, "sorry's not gonna cut it. Next time, watch where you're running, and where your dumb dog runs, because if I ever find you in our territory ever again, I'll skin you and the dog alive and tack you up on some other rich Soc's house."

The way he said "Soc" with mustered disgust made me realize that he was a probably a greaser. I felt like dying. The social classes still existed. At that point, I could've been sensible and explained to him that I wasn't a Soc, and that I was blind, so I couldn't watch anything more than nothing. But being a bit of a temperamental girl, I spat back, "If you weren't standing in the middle of the road, I wouldn't have bumped into you!"

He laughed a dangerous laugh which shook my spine with fear, but I tried to stay upright. He must've thought it was funny when girls were sassy. "Y'know, I hate when Soc girls try to get all sassy with me, I mean, what're you, blind?"

And with that, he pushed me on the ground.

If you think it isn't a big deal, it is. The fact that my tailbone shattered into the concrete and my palms slid against it, burning and cut, is quite painful. My shades clattered off my head, and I quickly snapped my eyes shut. For some reason, I didn't want this guy knowing I was blind, because he could easily use it against me.

I felt him walk closer to me, and Soda quickly began barking. I think he bit the man, because the man cursed nastily and I heard something that sounded like metal being slid out of a metal slit. I recognized it as a knife, and I felt my eyes prickle with tears.

"Don't hurt him!" I screamed into the cold air. And then, without warning, my mouth had the strangest impulse to ask, "Do you know Johnny Cade?"

Looking back at it now, my mouth was clever to ask the man that question, because if he was a greaser, and so was Johnny, there must've been a connection. But looking at it then, I could only bite my lip and wince at how incredibly stupid I was.

Everything was silenced, like when you put a pillow over your ears. I was almost afraid that I was already dead. And then suddenly and timidly—

"He's dead."

The words floated slowly into my head, and soon they rested on my heart. And with that, the man's footsteps lumbered off, leaving me glued to the floor, wishing it would just open up and suck me in right away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two! Sorry if it's boring or short, but things will be more interesting and get in depth in chapter three.**

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><p><em>I believe that life is a prize. But to live doesn't mean you're alive. <em>

-Nicki Minaj (Onika Maraj)

Two

*Dally*

In one year, my life changed.

A year ago, admitting this was for the weak. But in one stretch of a year, I realized that I _was _weak. Sure, I survived punches and blows and other near-death experiences, but I couldn't survive losing the only friend I had. Johnnycake. Sure, I survived the coma, but although I was alive, I was still dead, like dry grass between a field of vibrant green. I was still physically there, but I lost my colors, my essence.

The gang was supportive. They thought I'd died, but God wasn't so merciful. I survived suicide. When I say it, it sounds real dumb. I mean, its suicide, how can you fail to kill yourself? I did. Unfortunately.

I still which I'd loaded that gun. Maybe if I actually shot it, the cops would've killed me dead. Or maybe I could've shot myself in the head and end it. But I wasn't thinking at the time. I was only thinking of my best friend, dead, all because he tried to save a few dumb kids.

He'd wanted me to see sunsets, so that's what I did that nice, fresh summer, despite the fact that every time I watched a sunset, there would be this weird tickling feeling behind my eyes. I hated it. But I still watched the sunsets, only because Johnny wanted me to.

I only listen to Johnny.

I lit up a cancer stick and put it between my lips as I sat on an empty tin barrel. I let the smoke swirl in perfect circles, right out of my lips, and watched the gray from the smoke swim up into the sky, which was strawberry pink at the bottom and then slowly meshed into violet. The peach sun melted into the horizon. It was getting late.

"You happy, Johnny?" I muttered under my breath, standing up and jamming my hands into my leather jacket. "I watched the dumb sunset. No need to invade my sleep, man."

Believe it or not, the days that I forgot to watch sunsets, I had strange dreams. And by strange, I mean coldly accurate. Last week, I was drinking at Buck Merril's place, and forgot to lay eyes on the sunset. That same night, I dreamed of Johnnycake sitting down beside my bed and smoking a cigarette. He stayed quiet for a while, then suddenly looked at me and blew the smoke in my face before I woke up. Dreams like that happened when I didn't see sunsets, and personally, the whole thought of dreaming of the dead wasn't my idea of a good night's sleep, so I tried my best to obey Johnny's wish.

I only listen to Johnny.

But when I stood up and turned to walk down the street to my busted home, I heard something that sounded like a dog barking frantically, directly right behind me. I felt like my legs would go weak—don't tell nobody, but I have some kind of phobia against dogs.

I didn't even get to run. Before I knew it, the massive thing had slipped right beside me, sending me right into the wall, knocking over the tin barrels. I cursed under my breath.

And then I saw her. A girl, with dark shades on and a decent-length skirt, flying down the road. Her dark, knotted curls flew behind her and whipped her face, but she was too busy crying out for someone named Soda. For a split second, I thought she meant Sodapop Curtis, but then the dumb dog that knocked me over stopped dead in his tracks and turned to paw towards her. Soda was her dog.

The girl got him. She had gold skin, kind of like a beach tan, and a nose that reminded me of a walnut, all crinkled whenever she was worried. It suited her, though. I realized she was a Soc.

To make a long story short, I threatened her. I pushed her. She was sassy, and for some reason, her attitude reminded me of Cherry Valance, the broad I'd tried to pick up once. Right when the chick got on my last nerves, however, she blurted out real fast:

"Do you know Johnny Cade?"

I can't tell you what I felt right then, because so many emotions came rushing through my veins like adrenaline. Sadness: Johnny was dead. Anger: What did a blasted Soc have to do with Johnny? Confusion: What _did _a Soc have to do with Johnny? Curiosity: Is she Johnny's cousin? More curiosity: Is she Johnny's girl? Joy: Johnny had a GIRL?

Once I felt it all, my entire body went numb. And I told her straight up, "He's dead."

But even as I walked away, and even as I dropped onto my bed to go to sleep, I felt a tiny voice in my head ask me repeatedly who that girl was and what she was doing in Tulsa. She obviously just moved, because she didn't recognize the territory.

I knew the way to find out.

I had to find her and ask her myself.

*Felt*

I don't know how, but I managed to make it home safely without falling off a bridge or something, because the next thing I knew, I was wrapped in puffy sheets, with morning sun sticking to my skin. For the next few days, anger and sadness and confusion and hurt wore me out, and I refused to eat anything thicker than onion soup. Then I came down with a flu, which worried my mom out sick, and she called one of those in-home-doctors to give me a checkup.

A full week passed, and I began to think harshly of life. Why were suns still rising? Why was the wind so gentle and sweet? Why did the moon still bask my limbs in its bath of light? Why did the grass still smell beautiful and fresh? My best friend had died. Nothing should be beautiful anymore.

But everything was beautiful, maybe even more beautiful than ever before. And that was the irony of it all.

Soda sensed my sadness, and he spent most of his time guarding my bed, sleeping, eating, and biting the doctor. Finally, one night, my mom came into my room and asked me seriously:

"Felt, what's wrong?"

I could only answer her. I told her that Johnny was dead, and how this guy told me about it. I left out the fact that the guy was an ass, and the fact that he pushed me. Mom is fierce, and the last thing I needed was her name all in the headlines of the newspapers for murdering some teenage boy.

"Oh honey," Mom whispered sadly, and she pulled me in for a hug. I felt her body begin to shake, and I could tell she was crying. I was all dried out of tears, but I felt so terrible for her. Mom has a hard time dealing with the loss of others. It's because she lost her twin sister when she was seven, and there forth, she treated the whole world like her twin sister, and felt the pain just the same. "Honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

I hugged her tightly. "How could you know, Mom?" I let out a shaky sigh. "His parents moved, Mom. I went to their house, but it was empty."

Mom said nothing for a long time. Finally, she said, "Felt, I know this is a bad time to tell you…but my job called me from Florida, and I'm supposed to help with the new factory plans."

I pulled away real fast. "So you have to go back to Florida?"

Mom sounded worried, which was unneeded. In fact, I thought the loneliness would help me channel white and yellow thoughts. "Only for a week, honey. That's why I came in your room, so that I could ask you if it was okay, and if whatever you were upset about wasn't too serious. But now I see that it is serious, so—"

"No, Mom," I said hurriedly. I plastered on a smile. "I'm fine, really. I can stay here by myself for a week."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Mom."

She pulled me in for a hug and let out a long, deep breath. "It'll be okay, Felt. Everything will be okay."

I tried to believe her.

So Mom left midweek, leaving me in my ground-floor house to swim in my memories. I was completely out of it while she was gone. I listened to the some doctor's show on TV, and they were talking about what to do if you lost someone you love. They advised to spend the first week crying your eyes out to let out your emotions. Well, I didn't need the dumb show to tell me to do that. Then they said to write a letter to the person that was dead, and then burn it afterwards. It felt like the right thing to do, so I knew what I had to do. The next day, after my walk with Soda, I pulled out my old Braille typewriter out of my unopened box of personal things. It was a gift from Johnny. It's got keys in Braille, and it prints the letter in both ink and Braille. It sells in reverse, too—keys with the alphabet on it, prints in Braille. But Johnny got that one, and I got this one.

I shoved loose paper and notebooks and books out of the way and plunked it on my tiny desk. I felt the keys, and how cold they were. It had been forever since I used it. I found paper placed theit in accordingly and took a deep, deep breath. I told Soda to quit barking and sat down. And then, I began to type. I found it easier to speak as I typed. At first I felt kind of foolish—writing a letter to someone who's dead. But soon enough the entire world became muffled around me, and I found myself in my own world with only one thing on my mind.  
><em>Johnny. <em>

*Dally*

A week and a half passed, in which I searched for the girl with the glasses. I didn't necessarily care about getting even with her, I just wanted to know how she knew Johnny. I feared she was a relative of Johnny; if he knew that I'd pissed his relative off, he'd be real angry. I also feared that she was Johnny's girl. If he knew that I'd pissed his girl off, he'd be so angry, he'd rip my head off.

If she _was_ Johnny's girl, then I felt real bad, because I broke the news to her. I know what it's like to lose someone you love—after all, I lost Johnny, and he was like a little brother to me. But I don't know what it's like to lose someone you love-love, as in, someone you kiss on the swings and all that fun stuff like the movies. But I didn't think Johnny could be that secretive. He would've told me.

Finally, I found the girl. I had borrowed some greaser's car and took my chances by driving deeper around the Soc territory, where I spotted her walking her dog, her shades on. I quickly parked the car and stalked her a bit. It's not my thing to stalk girls, but I was only doing it for Johnny and for my curiosity.

I saw the girl—Walnut, I called her—enter her house. It wasn't a real Socy mansion; it was just a simple, one-floor house. There was no car in sight, so to my luck, her parents weren't home, or she lived alone.

I ducked behind a bush and puffed on my cigarette, watching her close the door behind her. I sucked in my breath. She'd taken her dog in with her. I had a bad thing with dogs. But I chanced it. I dashed across the street, tossing my cigarette aside in the process. Then, when I reached the door, I quietly picked the lock with my switch blade and opened the door.

The house was even simpler than the appearance. I was right about Walnut being new to town—the house was furniture less. I looked left and right, to make sure all the windows in the house were closed, and made my way a little down the hall.

Photos were lined against the left side wall. I walked carefully and quietly, studying the pictures. There were the only actual décor in the house. I saw baby photos and a big family portrait, and then a photograph of Walnut, only miniature. And then suddenly, my breath got caught in my throat, and a huge lump formed in my throat. The next photo was one of Johnny.

In detail, it was a photograph of a whole bunch of people surrounding a birthday cake. Walnut was in the middle of the crowd, beaming, but her eyes were vast and looking elsewhere in the photo. Next to her was Johnny, who was wearing a party hat and looked kind of young—or younger than he usually looks like. I'd never seen him look so happy. He had his arm around Walnut, and I began wondering whether they were boyfriend-girlfriend or relative. I didn't have a chance to stare at them and find out, though, because right then, I heard a jingle of a dog tag. I held my breath. The same golden dog came prancing out of a room, the one that had knocked me over in the street. My nerves kind of froze, and the dog took sight of me and began yapping its head off. But then, almost immediately, Walnut's voice said, "Quiet, Soda", right from inside the room Soda had walked out of. I inched against the wall as the dog quietly passed me, giving me a kind of snarl as a warning. I made my way towards Walnut's room.

And then, when I reached to doorway, I braced myself for a scream or even a punch of surprise, but what I saw was terrifying.

Walnut was looking right at me.

And she didn't make a sound.

It hit me then, as she turned away to sit down in front of a typewriter, that Walnut was blind. I know I should've opened my mouth to say something, but my lips were sealed shut as realization hit me.

And then, without warning, Walnut began to type. And as she typed, she spoke. And as she spoke, I listened.


	3. Chapter 3

_When it gets dark enough, you can see the stars. _

-Anonymous?

Three

*The Letter*

Johnny—

I can't believe it. I come back four years after leaving you here in Tulsa, excitement rushing over me, thoughts swimming in the clouds about how the first thing I'd do is run up to you and give you a big ol' hug and then ask you to get me some ice cream, and then we'd walk over to Dairy Queen with Soda leading the way, and how you'd describe every aspect of this new Tulsa to me, and how it's changed so much, and then you'd place your hand over mine and run my hand down a brick wall, and together, we'd feel the texture of it. But when I stood outside with Soda for the first time, and we tried to find your house, we couldn't find it. I spent three whole hours asking people if they knew Johnny Cade. Some of them merely said no, and other stayed silent and walked away without me knowing.

And then I ran into a boy on the streets. He was rude, alright, and in his anger pushed me down. I don't think he knew I'm blind. Soda bit him, I think—either that or the boy pulled a switchblade out on me. I didn't get to know his name, but I managed to ask him if he knew Johnny Cade. He got real quiet. I got angry, thinking he left like all the others I'd asked, but then he said that you were dead.

Yeah, that's what he said. You were dead. He didn't tell me anything else, and he soon left. You know, when I let it sink in that you were dead, I ran home, Soda leading the way, and cried and cried and cried and cried. I still can't believe it, Johnnycake. You're dead. _Dead. _Gone.

That's why I'm writing this letter. I need to cool off. You'll probably never read it. I think you've moved on already, if you're dead. So it's not like you can read it from heaven. But I need to cool off—to let all my emotions out.

I can still remember the day we first met, Johnny. I'm sad it wasn't earlier, considering I lived in Tulsa all of my life before I moved. Soda was only a little puppy then. And he was wild, running about and whatnot. I remember my mom and dad went out, and the babysitter was inside on the phone, and I was playing in the yard. I can still smell the freshly cut grass. And I remember how Soda got too wild and ran away, and how scared I was, and how I ran in the middle of the road to find Soda, and nearly got hit by a truck until you saved me. You'd rolled out of nowhere, and I can remember smelling denim and sunshine as you rolled with me. We were only nine, but you were wise for your age. I'd gotten knocked out—my head hit the ground, hard. And then I remember waking up under a warm jacket, and feeling a sopping wet rag on my forehead, and then we met, just like that. We talked and talked and talked for hours. Silly stuff, too. What we liked to eat for breakfast (you said chocolate-covered pancakes, I said omelets) and what fruit tasted best (we both agreed on grapes) and what flavor ice cream we favored (both favored all). Those were the days. You told me about your mean parents, your friends, and you always talked about some Dallas Winston, and his pure hair and angry face and the mean things he did in New York. You knew how to make me shiver. I wondered how a Greaser like you could be so sweet. You'd walked me home from the lot, and we found Soda lounging in the lawn, and my mom and dad were so thankful that you'd saved me.

Our friendship began. Months passed. We met up on lawns and parks and in ice-cream shops, and talked for hours and hours and hours once more. You described the things around me for me…the things I never saw. You told me how tall and high trees were, and how they grazed the skies, and how vivid the sun was, so warm and hot, and then you described yourself for me. You told me you had skin like coffee and round, minty eyes. I dared myself and asked you what I looked like. It took a while for you to say; you were always so shy. You told me I had earthy skin and warm, cuddling eyes and spirals of shining dark hair as sweet as chocolate. You sure had a way with your words. I was so speechless to hear it! If it wasn't for you telling me you had to go meet up with some friends, I might've kissed you.

I remember my thirteenth birthday clearly. It was the last birthday we'd share together. You came over to my house, and my parents had the party. I smelled the burning of candles, and you and parents and some other friends from school sang me happy birthday, and then I blew out the candles, and you fed me that piece of cake. That was the best birthday I'd ever had. You'd bought me a Braille typewriter! I felt so special. Then Mom and Dad put on that record of slow songs while we were talking in the basement, and I'd pulled your shy-self to dance, and we whispered over each other's shoulders. Your voice was always soft and sweet and gentle but husky, like as if you were always talking to a scared bird to try and get it to fly. You gave me my wings, Johnny. Anyways, we'd danced slowly, and I loved being so close to you, to smell the cotton of your shirt and to feel your breath against my neck as we whispered senseless, sweet, nothings and to let my hand gingerly run through your soft, thick hair. When I think about it, boy, my face gets hot! And I remember you suddenly pulling away, and that cold emptiness feeling drafted over me, and I could feel your eyes on my sightless ones, and my heart was dropping as I thought, _maybe he doesn't like me. _But then, your warm lips met mine gently, but boldly. Your lips were so sweet. I'd never kissed a boy before, but I knew right away that you were the best kisser ever. And God, Johnny, if it's one of the thing I'll miss, it's your lips.

Everything was great…And then my dad got a heart attack. I remember hearing him cough and sputter and we tried to call an ambulance, but it was too late. People sure do get quiet real fast when they die. And I remember Mom telling me that he was dead. I'd run out without Soda that night, remember? It was pretty cold that night! If it wasn't for you, I might have died of pneumonia. You and your jean jacket saved my skin plenty of times. You'd let me cry on your shoulders, and mope and weep, and I remember your husky little voice telling me it would be okay. But that was the one time you were wrong. My mom lost it. She lost her mind, her job, and her happiness. And she couldn't handle Tulsa anymore. So we ended up having to move.

I remember holding back the sobs as Soda and me got into the van. You'd helped us load it. And then I remember your lips briskly meeting my cheek, and how I wanted to kiss you on the lips, but you turned your head, and I kissed your cheek instead, and tasted salty tears. Then you gave me the warmest hug in the world, and told me that you'd been saving up to buy yourself a Braille typewriter, and that you'd write to me.

You didn't lie. We wrote constantly for a few years. I loved letting my fingers glide over the paper, feeling the smooth dots under my finger tips and sniffing the smell of denim and sunshine. I missed you a lot in Florida.

Oh, Johnny, I'll never be able to forget you. Now that you're dead, I don't know what to do. I miss you, and I hate everything about Tulsa. It isn't the same. I really, really, really, miss you. I wish I could see you one last time, just to say goodbye, and kiss you on the lips, and I wouldn't mind tasting your salty tears again, just as long as I know that your feelings were genuine and real.

Johnny, I miss everything about you. Your thick hair, your eyelashes as they fluttered against my cheek, your denim jacket, your sweet and husky voice, your salty tears, my hand running to touch your lips so that I could feel whether you were smiling or frowning or whatever. I can't believe that all those things no longer exist, that you no longer exist. You were my best friend and my first crush, and I can never forget you. I want to die now that you're not here. I feel like this is all a terrible dream. I feel dumb and foolish and angry at myself for writing this letter, pouring all my heart into it, knowing you'll never be able to read it. It doesn't stick in my head. You're dead. You don't exist. My first love is gone. You're gone.

And yet the only thing I can think of to tell you, if you could read this is, "I wonder what a sunset looks like from heaven."

*Dally*

My entire body froze as the girl suddenly stopped typing and speaking and pushed the typewriter into the wall, where it crashed with a loud bang that made me jump out of my skin. Then Walnut starting crying, and when I say crying, I mean sobbing her eyes out to the point where I heard her dumb dog whimper along with her. I felt this weird feeling above my knees, almost as if they were weak. Naturally, I don't care about people who cry, because I've seen it a lot. But this was Johnny's girl, and, well, she was blind. I marveled over that fact for a moment. She was blind. She never saw Johnny. Yet she liked him. It was almost too good to be true.

_She was Johnny's girl. Johnny had a girl. And he didn't tell me._

I let it sync in my mind.

_Johnny loved a girl. Sweet, sensitive Johnny loved a blind girl. _

I stood there for a moment, watching her sob, and it sounded like she was in real pain. I felt that weird prickling behind my eyes, as if someone was tickling the back of my eyeballs with feathers. I drew in a deep breath and—

She stopped sobbing immediately and her head rose up quickly. I realized she'd heard me breathe. In an instant, she stood up and yanked an iron baseball bat from behind her desk and held it firmly between her fists, as if waiting to swing at some skull. I was going to reach for my switchblade—greaser instincts, what can I say?—but the feeling in my knees burst, and I couldn't help but wince slightly in pain, dropping the blade and making a soft grunt which Walnut, no doubt, heard. She stepped forward and swung the bat, and I ducked low and made a crawl for it. I heard the bat drop, and Walnut shout, "Who's there?"

I tried to stand straight, and in the process, saw dumb Soda barking and running towards me, and I crashed into the wall, sending photographs shuddering and clashing down on the floor. Glass shattered. Walnut let out a surprised cry and then a yell. I looked back and saw that she had been sock-footed, and a shard of glass had seeped into the bottom of her foot. Then she pulled it out, and began feeling kneeled down and felt her way down the hall, pushing aside glass. Soda managed to tear off some of my leather jacket, and I shoved him aside and ran right out the door.

Before I made it to the car, I looked back at the girl, who stood in front of her house, yelling out, "Who's there?" Her eyes were pointlessly and pathetically darting about, trying to look, but failing. She held several of the photographs I'd shattered in her hands, clutching onto them as if they were the only thing that she had. Maybe they were. I wouldn't know. I hopped into the car and sped off. Even in the distance, I could see her clearly.

She had hazel eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

_Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend._

-Albert Camus

Four

*Felt*

I'd called the cops as soon as I could. By the time they arrived, my foot was bleeding the life right out of me. I could feel it all sticky and forming puddles beneath my heel and I could smell the iron. It was nasty. The cops had to grab a first aid kit and patched up the wound quickly so that I wouldn't get an infection. They did an inspection, but when I asked them about the blade that I heard drop, they said they couldn't find any. All they found was a torn leather jacket. But no blade. I persisted on the fact that I heard the blade drop, they persisted on the fact that I was shaken up. They left pretty quickly.

Was I going mad?

In the light of that thought, I decided not to tell Mom about the incident. Unfortunately, my name was printed in the newspaper, and I had no idea until Beatrix the Bee, lavender-pumpkin scented and all, knocked on my door two days after the incident and attacked me in a hug. She hugged and cried when she saw me, and I hugged her back.

Beatrix had brought over two tubs of ice cream and two spoons, and we went on a binge right in my room. I told her about Johnny, and she sighed and admitted that yes, Johnny had died.

"How?" I asked, licking vanilla off of my lips.

"I…I can't remember," Beatrix said seriously. "But I know he was in the newspaper for some crime…"

"Crime?" I almost jumped out of my pants. "Johnny could never commit any kind of crime!"

"That's what I'm thinking," Beatrix said, deep in thought. "He was in the newspaper twice, actually, I think for some kind of good deed…"

"He commits a crime and does a good deed," I repeated. "I don't believe it."

She paused for a second, and the only sound I heard were our spoons scraping against half empty tubs. Finally, she let out a sigh. "God, Felt. I can't believe it. You and Johnny…When did I miss this?"

"Thirteenth birthday."

"Dang it, I should've skipped my trip to Texas." She sighed. "That must be so hard for you…to find out that the person you loved is dead…"

I swallowed and took a big spoonful of ice cream, because I knew that if I said anything in reply, I'd burst out crying.

That night, I dreamt of Johnny. I dreamed that he was lying beside me, with his arm under my head, stroking my hair and telling me over and over again that he was sorry for leaving. And I tried to hug him and hold him back, but my arms were tied.

You might wonder how people that are born blind can dream. Well, here's the real different part about behind born blind. The brain is a developing organ, and it learns from what you see, hear, feel, and taste. But because I've never technically seen anything, my dreams are constructed of feelings and sounds and tastes. In fact, I can actually and physically feel a lot of things that happen in my dreams, whereas most people who can see, feel numb to what they see is happening.

Beatrix was really helpful for the next few days. She spent the night over at my house because I was kind of paranoid about being home alone. When my mom called and announced that her mom—my grandma—was ill and that she had to spend some more time in Florida, Beatrix helped me do groceries and clean the house. We put lamps and furniture that was delivered in a truck all around the house. We bought new frames from the store for my shattered pictures, using the money given to me by the county police. I wished that my life could go back to normal, just with me and Mom and Beatrix and my dead Johnny.

Did I ever tell you I never get what I wish for?

*Dally*

"Johnny had a girl?"

I shushed Ponyboy and inhaled more smoke from my cigarette. When Johnny died, Pony and I became a bit closer. He was still somewhat annoyingly innocent, but he was okay. He was a Curtis, anyways.

I'd read the newspapers, and sure enough, Walnut (whose real name was Felt—how weird is that?) had made headlines. It was a tragic story of someone taking advantage of a blind girl. I had decided to only tell Ponyboy about the truth. I didn't want anyone else knowing that I'd broken into a blind girl's house, and I didn't want too many people knowing that Johnny had a girl. If he didn't tell me, he obviously didn't want anyone to know.

We were lounging on sofas in the Curtis house, which was almost deserted except for the fact that Soda was sleeping. Darry was at work. This was kind of odd, because the Curtis house was usually always occupied by some bunches of Greasers. Now it was only three people.

"Johnny had a girl," I repeated with finality. "She's Felt." Ponyboy scratched his head and groaned. His hair was getting darker and longer from when he cut it and bleached it. He was growing taller, too. It surprised me to think that this was the same Pony that had came over with Johnny to Buck's place, sopping wet and terrified. He'd grown so much, not just in appearance, but mentally, too. Life can change a person. "Keep it quiet, will ya? No one needs to know Johnny's business."

"And what is Johnnycake's business?" Sodapop came emerging out of the room, bed-head and all, in pajama pants.

"None of yours," I snapped at him, and he grinned before snatching a cigarette from my Kools box that was lying on the table. He lit it up and sat down on the couch facing me, right next to Pony.

"Enlighten me," he said.

So I told him the whole story. When I was done, I waited for Soda to make some kind of comment, but all he said was:

"Is she cute?"

"I don't know," I said, slightly annoyed. I didn't look at her that way, actually. But I raked my mind for her memory. She _certainly_ wasn't as pretty as that broad, Cherry Valence, but something about her was quirky and light…of course, I didn't tell Sodapop this. "What does it matter?"

"Nothing," Soda replied cheerfully. "Just wanted to know if Johnny chose the right girl. Is she a friendly girl?"

"I wouldn't know," I reminded him sarcastically. "I got on her bad side. Geez, Soda, if you wasn't Darry's little brother, I'd pound your head in."

He only smiled mischievously. We sat there in silence, the three of us smoking our cigarettes absent mindedly, our eyes glazed over. Finally, Ponyboy spoke up.

"Why don't you talk to her?"

I scoffed. "Talk to her? Pony, why in the name of Jesus would I talk to her? Unless if you mean I say lousy stuff."

"No, don't say lousy stuff," Pony said. "She was good friends with Johnny."

Soda coughed. "_Friend_ is a bit of an understatement."

I shot him a warning look, but it occurred to me then that Felt and Johnny were probably… intimate. I didn't think Felt was that kind of girl, since she didn't mention anything like _that_ in the letter, and I certainly didn't believe sweet Johnny could do anything more than hold hands, but then again, I didn't think Johnny had it in him to talk to girls, and I was wrong...Confused, I shook the thought out of my mind.

"Just talk to her," Pony suggested again. "You guys have one thing in common, at least."

"And what's that?"

"Johnny."

I shrugged. "I'll pass, man."

"Felt probably knows a lot more about Johnny than you do," Soda chimed in. "She'll tell you stuff." and I gave him another look. But it was true. Johnny had talked to Felt about me, but he never talked to me about Felt. I got this weird feeling in my stomach. Johnny never worshiped the ground on my feet as I expected he did. He didn't trust me like he trusted his girl.

I stood up and flicked the ashes from my cigarette. Ponyboy sat back, pleased, knowing that I was going to do what he suggested. As I left the house, snapping up the collar of my jacket, my mind swam in thoughts.

Sure, I'm Dallas Winston, the jailbird, the kid who practically went to church in the cooler, the one who jumped little kids and did all sorts of terrible, lousy stuff. But if it was two things I couldn't do, it would be A) handle the loss of things I'd adored, and B) talk to girls. The kind, nice, un-Dally way.

*Felt*

Three o'clock, Wednesday, I took Soda out for a walk. Beatrix went with me. He became quieter, and I think he still thought it was his fault that someone had broken into my house. I decided to take him to Dairy Queen—he was the only dog I knew that liked vanilla ice cream.

Unfortunately for me, they didn't allow dogs in DQ, although Soda was my service dog. So Beatrix and I tied his leash to a motorbike stand, and we sat down at a booth near a window where Beatrix could watch Soda eat his ice cream.

I'd ordered chicken fingers and fries. I liked chicken better than any other meat. I saved my fries for last, like I always do. I have a habit of dipping my fries in my ice cream cone. The mix of hot and cold soothe me.

Halfway through our lunch, however, Beatrix froze dead in her conversation about this boy she dated. "Who are you?" she said suspiciously, and I realized that someone was standing by our table, waiting for something.

"I need to talk to Felt."


	5. Chapter 5

_Life is full of surprises. And no matter how hard we try not to open the gift, temptation forces us to tear the wrapping paper anyways. _

-VB

Five

*Felt*

My nerves went cold. I recognized the voice as the guy from two weeks back, the jerk one. I put on a face and tried to look expressionless. "Why do _you _want to talk to me?"

He paused a minute, like he was mulling over something. Then he said, "I'm Dallas Winston."

Beatrix made a weird kind of noise in her throat. My eyes got wide, but I managed to say, "Okay."

Beatrix got hysterical. "Are you kidding me, Felt? He's that Greaser—the one that was in jail, like, fifty million times!"

"He was Johnny's friend," I reminded her, although the blood had drained my face. That jerk was Johnny's friend? "I'll talk to him for a while. Just go take Soda for a walk. Please?"

Beatrix sighed, and I heard her pick up her tray and slide out of her seat. "You're crazy, Felt, you know that?"

Dallas took her place, and for a minute, everything was real quiet, except for the sound of people eating and walking in and out. Finally, I let out a sigh.

"So, you're _the_ Dallas Winston," I said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Call me Dally," he said, sounding very uncomfortable. That surprised me. Dally, according to Johnny, was used to telling off police officers and nurses and whatnot, so why couldn't he talk normal with me."

"I'm Felt," I said. He said nothing. I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. "What do you want?" It came out ruder than I expected.

"Watch the attitude," he said, and I stuck my tongue out. He sighed again. Just then, a waitress came around. She waited a minute before speaking, and I could feel her eyes sizing the two of us up. I mean, here was a middle-class girl sitting with the most rule-breaking greaser in town. Then, Dally ordered a barbeque sandwich and some soda. When the waitress came with his tray and left, he began to talk.

"I wanted to talk about Johnny," he said quietly. "I know you know him…and you guys were…"

Realization hit me like a car before he could finish. "You broke into my house." He heard me as I read the letter. I would've blushed, but I was more upset than shy.

"Just to talk to you," he blurted quickly, though he didn't sound proud to admit it. He must've been ashamed to say that he broke into a house and didn't get anything more than the satisfaction of ruining a blind girl's house. Which isn't real high on the level of a criminal's satisfaction.

"So here you are," I said coldly. "Talk."

"Watch the attitude," Dallas warned again, and he sounded real dangerous, but I'd swallowed my fear a loooong time ago.

"Go on."

He sighed for the umpteenth time. Finally he said:

"I want you to tell me about Johnny."

I almost laughed at that. "I don't know anything you don't." I thought it was true. Johnny talked about Dally all the time, so they must've been good friends. Whatever good he saw in Dally wasn't present, but whatever. In fact, Dally knew something I didn't know.

"Well…you guys were dating…and he never told me about you."

Most people would feel offended if the guy they liked didn't talk about them to his friends, but I knew that Johnny was different. He liked his privacy. I admired that about him. "We weren't dating officially."

"But you guys hugged and kissed and…stuff…" Now Dally sounded embarrassed. Embarrassment didn't suit him.

"Stuff?" I almost laughed again. I have a weird sense of humor. "We kissed once. We hugged a few times. We hung out. But we were only, like, thirteen and fourteen. Don't you think that's a bit young to do anything more?" We were WAY too young, actually. I'm glad both me and Johnny knew that and had none of that on our minds.

Dallas said nothing. I bet he didn't agree.

"I don't know what I can tell you," I admitted. "But I know you can tell me something."

"What?"

"How did Johnny die?"

The moment I said it, I could tell that I had uncovered an old wound. When Dally let out a weary sigh, I felt unsure if I was ready to hear the truth. Johnny had told me stories of tuff and tough Dally, who could handle everything and more. So to hear even Dallas Winston sigh as if he didn't want to uncover a wound was not very pleasant. But once Dallas began talking, there was no going back. I could only listen and hold back tears.

Truth was, Johnny and Pony had run out at night, and a few drunken Socs attacked. Johnny killed one of the Socs, and then Pony and Johnny had to become refuges of the law.(Johnny? Kill? The words didn't fit.) Dally was the one that directed them to the country, a little in the outskirts Tulsa. They stayed in an abandoned church, cut and bleached their hair (well, Pony did.) One day, after going out to DQ with Dally, they came back and saw that the church was on fire, thanks to their cigarettes. (I never knew Johnny smoked. That shocked me.) Johnny and Pony had ran to save some kids that were stuck in the flames, and Johnny got badly wounded. He died shortly after, his last words directed to Ponyboy.

When Dally finished the story, I was so numb all over that I didn't know that I was crying until Dallas handed me a napkin rather roughly. I blew my nose.

"I can't believe it," I said quietly. "Johnny killed someone?"

"Yeah," Dally said.

"And he died…"

"All because he tried to save some stupid kids," Dally said cynically.

"He did the right thing," I responded coolly.

"Did he?" Dally tested. "The right thing is to lay down your life for some stupid kids who played in the church when they shouldn't have?"

"They were just kids!"

"Still, they should know better!" Dally growled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said sarcastically, "but not everyone is as merciless as you, Dally."

"And that's a damn bad thing," hissed Dally. His voice became clearer as he spoke, and I felt that he leaned in closer towards me. "You have no idea what happened to me when Johnny died."

"You became cold hearted?" I suggested. "OOPS, wait, you already were."

I was pushing my luck, but Dally ignored me and said seriously, "I have every single right to be angry at those blasted kids. If they wasn't in that church, none of this would've happened."

"You're just angry," I responded. "You're angry because your friend risked his life for something of a good purpose."

"Because he was my friend!"

"Well, he was my friend too!"

Silence enveloped us. Then, I heard what sounded like a something being struck against a matchbox, and then smoke filled my nostrils. Dally was smoking. He called me a few foul names, ones I would never use. That made me angry.

"What the hell is your problem?" I snapped, waving my hand in front of my face to difuse the smoke.

"The fact that Johnny chose you of all girls," Dallas snapped back smoothly.

"Who should he have chosen, your ma?"

It wasn't the cleverest thing to say, especially to Dallas Winston. I paid the price really quick, though, because instantly, I felt something splash across my face. It took me a minute to realize that it was soda. Dairy Queen got real quiet all of a sudden, and I felt millions of eyes on our table.

I reached for a napkin and wiped my face. Then, I got real angry and flipped up my whole tray upwards, satisfyingly hearing everything hit Dally with a splat. Before he could react, though, someone grabbed me by the arm and jerked me upwards. Apparently they got Dally, too, because the next thing I knew, Dallas was cursing at the person that grabbed us and saying, "Let me go!"

I began to wonder why Dallas didn't reach out for a weapon. He had to have carried a blade with him. But then I remembered he'd dropped it in my house. So where exactly was it?

"You two need to leave," said a man with a real Southern drawl of an accent. He must've been the owner of Dairy Queen. He led us both out the door, and didn't lose his grip until we were twenty paces away from the door.

I let out a growl of unbelieving anger and wiped my forehead with my hand. My entire body felt sticky. "You are so immature."

"Oh, sure," Dally said sarcastically. "I'm an innocent child."

"I don't even know why Johnny talked about you," I said angrily. I know that I was practically putting myself up for suicide, but I was so furious and helpless I couldn't help it. My body was trembling violently.

"Thankfully you moved," Dallas said with a kind of pleased finality. He blew his cigarette smoke right in my face. It made me feel lightheaded as soon as I inhaled it, and I'd had enough. I began storming away.

"Hey!" Dallas called after me, but I pretended not to hear.

I heard his footsteps jog behind me, and he grabbed my arm and yanked me backwards. I tried to shake loose, but he was too strong.

"What the hell are you thinking?" he snapped. "You can't just storm off. You're _blind._"

"Oh yeah?" I said testily. "Watch me."

At that point, I tried to storm off, but Dallas's grip tightened and he yanked me back towards him. I felt my eyes prickle with tears. I can't explain why, but I hate being treated unfairly, and when I can't fight it, I get so frustrated that I cry. It's childish, but no one's perfect.

"You wanna run from me?" he muttered in my ear. I tried to keep my face strong, but my breathing was hard and uneven, and my walls were slowly crumbling. "_You_ _wanna run from me_?" He was pushing me further down my line of temperance. He shook me slightly, then harder, and then let me go so fast that I nearly fell.

"Run, then," he said angrily. "Be stupid and run."

Well, I didn't want to walk away, because I was blind and Beatrix had taken Soda. How couldn't I have remembered that I needed him to walk? And I didn't want to stay right where I was, because that would make me seem weak to Dallas. So I began walking away, stomping heavily.

My initial plan was to walk a little and then, when I thought Dallas was gone or something, ask someone for help. But pretty soon, my plan failed, and I had no idea that I walked right on the middle of the road until I heard a car horn blaring, getting louder and louder. I didn't scream, I just stood there like a dead dog, waiting for it to happen.

I'd love to lie to you and tell you that I began marveling over my life and goals and how I'd finally be able to see Johnny, but really, my only thought was a little like this: _! _

Suddenly, in an instant, I heard someone yell out, "Oh f—!"

And then the car hit me like a boulder, and I flipped sideways like a doll, and landed face-down on the gravel. The only thing I remember was tasting blood and feeling the weight of the sky crashing down on me, and the lonely scent of denim and sunshine washing over my body like the waves wash over the sand.


	6. Chapter 6

_If I could pick one part of the day to live my life in forever, I would have to pick that brief period after you wake up and before you get your full state of mind. _

-TW

Six

My eyes fluttered open, and for a split second, something weird happened. I saw—but faintly—holes that dotted the darkness. It's kind of hard to explain, since I've never seen anything before except these weird tears in the emptiness. They vanished soon, though, and once again, I was back to being blind. I managed to speak, but my voice came out coarse and distant. I asked, "Am I dead?"

No response came. I figured I was alone. I took notice to the cold, thin, foreign sheets splayed across my body and the too-soft mattress beneath me. I could hear birds chirping from outdoors.

And then, the blurry period that was wedged between waking up and falling back asleep faded, and realization hit me. I had been hit by a car. And what's worse is that right before it happened, an old, faded scent rested upon me. That scent was Johnny's. Overwhelmed by everything, I cried silently for a minute before regaining my calm posture. I still wasn't even sure if I was alive or dead.

I slid out of bed, but the minute my feet hit wooden floor, I felt like I was surfing on the world. I was very dizzy. I sat down and breathed slowly. Maybe I was in heaven? I've always had a theory that heaven was whatever someone wanted it to be. I'd always wanted to die and land in a field of tall flowers, not a house.

I felt my way down the walls, feeling the foreign texture and glossy posters. This wasn't my room. Suddenly, by fingers reached a crease in the wall. I ran my hands down the crease and found something cold and twisted. A doorknob.

I turned the doorknob and opened the door wide. Almost instantly, thousands of scents and sounds and feeling punched through my body. Blueberry waffles and men's cologne floated under my nose. Sound of muddled laughter and conversation swept into my ears. It sounded as if I had cotton stuck around my head, however, as the sounds weren't too clear. All the littlest of hairs on my body tingled and stood up on edge, the way they always do when one too many people stare at me.

Then someone spoke. The voice was male and different. I'd never met this person before, but then must've known me, because they said, "Good morning, Felt."

"Who—where am I?" I stuttered. My words were slurred, as if I was drunk.

"Your friend Beatrix dropped by a few minutes ago," said the person, ignoring my question. "Dally had gotten hold of her minutes after you blacked out. She's real angry with you for getting hurt."

"Where am I?" I asked again.

"You're at the Curtis house," spoke another male voice I didn't recognize.

I took the liberty to act blank, because I really was. "What's a Curtis house?" It sounded like some kind of asylum. Was _this_ heaven?

Lots of laughter followed this comment. I felt my face simmer with embarrassment. I must've sounded uneducated. "It's a house," explained yet another foreign male voice, "where the Curtis brothers live."

"And who are the Curtis brothers?"

No one bothered to answer me now; they were all too busy laughing at me. Finally, a firmer, older voice said, "Soda, take her back in the room and give her back her clothes."

Upon hearing this, my jaw dropped. "I'm—I'm not wearing clothes?" As soon as I said it, I felt something light was hanging over my shoulders. So I was wearing clothes—but not my clothes. Apparently, from the impact of the car, my mind was still running in slow motion.

Someone gently grabbed my arm (this person was apparently Soda—what kind of name was that? It was the name of my dog. I'll admit that for a split second, I believed Soda _was _my dog, but when the person grabbed my arm, I knew better) and led me back into the muggy room. They tossed me something cottony, and much softer than what I was wearing. I rubbed the fabric between my fingers. It wasn't anything like the skirt or top I'd worn before getting hit by the car.

"These aren't mine," I pointed out.

"Your clothes aren't dry," Soda replied gently, as if he was talking to a fragile, delicate bird.

"Why wouldn't they be dry?"

"We had to hand-wash them because they were splattered with blood from your nose."

Soda said this so cheerfully and casually. I, on the other hand, reached up and touched my nose. I felt it, which had a thick bandage on its crook, but my nose couldn't feel my fingers.

The man left the room and I fumbled to take of the scratchy fabric that was on my skin. It was a singed t-shirt—I could smell the burn. I didn't even wonder what someone would do to singe their t-shirt. I slipped into what felt like a huge cotton button down. Then I sat down on the bed and held my head in my hands and let out a big sigh. I was so confused, and I was in a house which was filled with men I didn't know. Why wasn't I in a hospital?

Two sharp knocks came from the door. "Come in," I said weakly. Soda shifted onto the bed and placed a cool glass and a tiny tablet in my palms.

"It's aspirin," he said. "Take it."

I hesitated. From what I'd been taught, you never take anything so much as candy from a stranger. So taking the pill didn't seem like a wise idea. I shook my head.

"I won't take it."

"Why not?"

I ignored this question with another one. "Who are you, exactly?"

A little soft laugh. "I'm Sodapop Curtis. I'm friends with Dallas Winston." He must've decided that this wasn't a friendship that would give him a great reputation, so he quickly added, "And I used to be real good friends with Johnnycake."

"Johnnycake?"

"That's our nickname for Johnny Cade. Two-Bit invented it."

I didn't bother asking who Two-Bit was. I took the aspirin slowly. Anyone who was friends with Johnny Cade had to have been good. Except Dally, of course. Looking back at it today, I wonder why I didn't question whether Soda was lying. But I just had one of those unexplainable feelings, the ones you can't ignore; the ones that are always saving you from making bad choices.

Sodapop was real nice, and I decided him to be my favorite of the entire gang. He was funny and made me laugh. He thought it was neat how I had a dog named Soda, and how the two of them shared the same loyal, friendly, happy personalities. It was a strange coincidence. He combed and braided my hair in one braid for me, which was something I didn't know any guy could do. He told me that Dallas had a certain disliking for hospitals, which is why he dropped me off at the Curtis house. Then he introduced me to the rest of the gang. I think the thing I was most amazed by were their unusual names and nicknames. I had a small request for each one of them. I wanted to touch their faces—just so that I could feel how they look like. Most of them were okay with this.

Soda, of course, had what I called a very strong face, with a nice jaw and a thoughtful nose. I would bet a million bucks that if I could see, he would be very cute. Darry, who the oldest Curtis brother, was a lot wiser and stricter and had the kind of cheekbones that rarely raise to make a smile. Ponyboy Curtis, the one who Johnny had been real close with, was quiet and had soft facial features. Two-Bit was kind of the exact opposite of Darry; he was funny (I should've guessed by the name) and had a face that wouldn't stop smiling, along with smile-creases near his eyes. Steve didn't let me touch his face, but he did speak with me. Of course, he was slightly cocky, and I couldn't believe it when Soda told me that was his best friend.

I didn't want to go home, since my mom wouldn't be back until the weekend, and Beatrix wwas already in a pissy mood so I spent another peaceful hour at the Curtis eating slightly burnt waffles and getting to know each of gang in depth. Like I said, I liked Soda the best. Something about him reminded me of my cousin. But in general, I liked all of the gang. Well, except Steve. I didn't like Steve.

I found out the reason why Dallas didn't take me to the hospital. As Darry put it, ever since Johnny died, Dally had a certain dislike for hospitals. I thought this was pretty stupid but nonetheless, everyone thought it was sensible. I guess there are some things I'll never understand.

Talking with everyone was hesitant, as I expected. They all seemed to catch themselves at saying words that had to do with seeing. Like when a bird had flown in through the window, Ponyboy started to say, "Look, there's a bird!" but stopped halfway because he knew I couldn't look. Even when I almost spilled maple on Steve, he stopped in the middle of saying, "Watch it!"

I was used to people acting this way around me. They think blindness is a curse, and maybe it is. I wouldn't know, because I was born blind. There is a shade of difference between being unnaturally blind and naturally blind. People unnaturally blind have "the Stifle", which is like of like the feeling of being suppressed or stifled. They know what it's like to see, so when they turn blind, the go through a panic period. It's kind of like when you're standing in a brightly lit, foreign room, admiring the things and then suddenly, the lights go out. You'll feel suppressed and stifled. But I, on the other hand, was born blind, therefore, I was born seeing the lights out, getting used to the darkness. I live in a _completely _different world. I can't feel stifled or blinded because I don't have memory of ever seeing to make the comparison and choose which one is worse. That's why often, I'm grateful to be naturally blind. Of course, none of the gang could understand this, so I didn't bother explaining. I didn't want their sympathy or their sorrow, but it was bound to come, anyways. So I sucked it up.

But my peaceful hour ended soon when I heard the front door bang open and slam shut.

"Hey, Dally," Pony said from next to me. I frowned immediately, as if the strings holding up my smile were cut.

"The kid's awake," was Dallas's rough response. It took me a while to realize the "kid" was me. I don't like people underestimating me, so I managed to say smoothly:

"Real smart, Dallas. Thanks to you, I can't feel my nose."

"Thanks to me, you didn't get hit by a car," he shot back. I wrinkled my nose in confusion.

"I _was _hit by the car. That's how my nose was broken."

"Fool," Dally taunted. "If you'd been hit by the car, you would've been dead. _I _was what pushed you out of the way of the car."

I mulled over this, thinking of something snappy to say. But my mind was a million miles away. It couldn't be Dallas that saved me. It had to have been the spirit of Johnny or something. I smelled his lovely scent. I wasn't hallucinating. He had been there.

"Dallas," I began, aware that everyone was listening but not really caring, "it couldn't have been you that pushed me from the car."

I could feel the confusion in the room. Dally seemed angry about this. "What—what do you mean it couldn't be me? The bruises on my elbows should be enough proof. Who else could've done it?"

I frowned, thinking of how to say it. I settled on beginning with the explanation and ending with the answer. "Right when I was pushed down, I smelled…well…denim and sunshine."

Everyone suddenly laughed. I felt my face grow hot. "What?"

"No one can smell sunshine," said Steve. Stupid Steve.

"I can," I said in a quiet voice. The laughter died down, and everyone must've realized that I was serious. I can't explain how I can smell things that people claim are unscented. Neither can I explain the scents of those unscented things. Sunshine smells like…well, sunshine. It's a real good scent. Perhaps if you blindfolded yourself once or twice and stood in warm sunshine, you'd smell it.

"Well, you smelled denim and sunshine," Dally said in a bored voice. "Your nose was broken so you couldn't be accurate."

I could've pointed out that even though the nose breaks, most of the scent-nerves stay intact, but instead I said real quiet, in hopes that only Dally could hear, "Johnny smelled like denim and sunshine."

The room got very, very quiet and very, very warm, like a sticky warm breath stuck in a box. Then—

"She should get some rest, Soda," Darry said, breaking the warm silence. "Maybe you should sleep, Felt."

"I don't _want _to sleep," I said firmly. "I just want to go home."

"I'll take her," said Dally with a sigh, which surprised me, since Dally seemed like the kind of guy who would rather swim in his own sick than give me a ride home.

"No, its okay, I'll call Beatrix, she'll get me," I started to ask where the phone was, when Dallas growled and said, "She told us to drop you off when you woke up. _She _trusts us, why don't you?"

I wanted to tell him that it was nothing of a matter of trust, and that he was just trying to play the victim in the story, but then I thought, _If Dallas Winston wants to drop me home, then he has to tell me something very important._ So I shrugged and sulked and thanked everyone, and then went on my way.

Dallas drove his convertible exactly the opposite of the law. He went so fast that my head felt like it would burst. I finally had to scream over the roar of the engine and the roar of the wind, "STOP!" And the car clattered to a violent halt. I tried to breathe calmly, but instead I was breathing in jagged breaths. "You're going to kill me."

"It isn't my car," he said, as if this cleared everything up.

"I—don't—care—if—this—isn't—your—car!" I said firmly between breaths. "Take me home nicely."

"Alright, alright," he said, sounding amused with my fear. I folded my arms and sat back as the engine gently rolled along.

And awkward silence enveloped us for the entire ride. I felt as if Dallas was holding his breath, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't. Before I could ask him what it was, the car abruptly stopped, and I heard the familiar barking of a dog in a house.

"Get out," Dallas muttered.

"Rude," I whispered, but I got out of the car, my legs feeling like jell-o and my heart soaring. I was finally home.

Beatrix greeted me before I could take half a step. Soda licked my legs energetically. Then Beatrix muttered a "thanks" to Dallas before ushering me inside the door. I was going to follow her, but then I told her to wait a second. I carefully made my way down the driveway. I leaned on the car door.

"Dallas, did you want to tell me something?"

I took him by surprise. "What—no?"

"Anything at all?" I pressed. "About Johnny? Or how I smelled his scent?"

He made a sound as if to open his mouth to say something, and for a millisecond there was hope. But then he grunted carelessly and said. "Nope. Nothing at all."

And without warning, the car roared and I stepped back, listening to it sing down the gravel road. It sang a broken tune, diverted from the rest of the world, and I wondered in curiosity about the meaning behind it.


	7. Chapter 7

_There's more to life than surviving. There's living it, too. _

-Angel, from _Maximum Ride_

Seven

*Pony*

As soon as Dallas came back, Darry cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting for an explanation. I'd almost forgotten that Dally didn't tell Darry about who Felt was, and to be honest, I couldn't blame him. Darry's got this built-in worry-o-meter, and he'd probably dare to scold Dallas for being so rude to Johnny's girl. Last year, pulling a stunt like that on Dallas, even for Darry, would be suicide. But Johnny's death had softened Dally up a bit. Made him slow down and think of life a bit differently. I told Dally this once, and he thought of it as an insult. But being soft is a good thing for everyone. You don't wanna get so cold that you can't feel anything anymore. It's just not humane.

Dally puffed on his cigarette and sat down, gazing blankly at Darry. Dally's got a great way of remaining calm and cool. I wouldn't have been able to hold in my laughter. Darry looked so much like an old mom, with his hands on his hips and his girly-looking apron. It was such a weird contrast—all those tuff muscles hidden behind cooking attire.

"Well?" Darry asked. "Dally, you know something about that blind girl that we don't."

"Yeah. She's annoying."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well, she _is_."

Darry sighed. Sometimes, Dally's a pain sometimes. Suddenly, Soda perked up and said:

"Oh, well, Felt was really J—" He stopped, looking at Dally's lethal glare. "Nice," Soda finished, and went back to folding the clothes that had dried.

"Sodapop Curtis, that's not what you meant to say and you know it."

"But _you_ don't," Soda teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. Soda loves to cause trouble with Darry.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Darry had Soda pinned to the floor in a headlock. Soda sweared and gasped for breath. I shook my head, bewildered.

Finally, Soda said, "Alright, alright! I'll 'fess."

"No you won't," Dally warned. I glanced at him. He looked more worried than angry.

Soda ignored him. "Felt…used to like Johnnycake. And the two of them started, y'know, going about getting to know each other and stuff, and they got pretty close, until Felt had to leave 'cause her dad had a heart attack and her mom lost it…and now that Felt's back in Tulsa, she didn't know Johnny died until Dally told her."

"Wait a minute," said Darry, loosening his grip on Soda's neck and standing up.. "So Johnny had a girl and he never told us?"

"He didn't even tell me," Dallas said. I could tell Dally was hurt because of that. "So I went and broke into her house to talk to her, because she had asked me on the streets where Johnny was and I swear I didn't know who she was, so I said some stuff and then told her Johnny was dead. And then she was reading out this letter she was writing to Johnny…"

Dally told out the whole story to Darry, and Two-Bit and Steve listened keenly too. When he told Darry that he'd thrown his soda in her face, Darry frowned.

"That's Johnny's girl," Darry said. "Treat her with respect, as if Johnny was still alive."

"Hey, I saved her life, okay?" Dally protested, flicking his ashes at Darry. "She wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for me."

Suddenly, I blurted, "There's more to life than surviving. There's living it, too."

I don't know why I had the impulse to say that quote, and I don't even know where I got it from. Now when I look back at it, it was completely random, though it was a principal about life that Dallas Winston didn't understand. Darry raised his eyebrows at Dally, as if to say "My point exactly", and Dally swallowed and smoked on his cigarette in silence, because I figured he knew exactly what I meant. Sometimes, he always does.

*Felt*

My mother came back that weekend. Up until that point, I had been living a fairly normal life, and I hadn't heard word from any of Johnny's friends, except for the fact that they left the clothes that had been dried and splattered with my blood at my front door for me, which I thought was considerate.

Mom noticed my nose and made me spill the series of events that had happened during her course of absence. She scolded me real bad just because I didn't call her to tell her what happened. I tried to come up with excuses—well, to me, they're reasons, not excuses—by saying how I didn't want to disrupt her at the company or stop her from taking care of grandma. Soon she caved in to my "reasons". And she was slightly okay with the fact that Johnny's friend had broken into my house for a good reason, or that I almost got hit by a car (again) and he saved me. I left out the parts about him being mean, though, and I didn't tell her about the Curtis brothers. If she got the hint that I was unconcsious, she wouldkill Dallasfor not going to a hospital right away.

June slipped by and melted into the unbelievable heat of July. I hated the hot heat, and it made me sweat between my elbows and the soft spot behind my knees. Electricity was going out and back on like firecrackers—constant and quick. I spent the first week of July eating Popsicles with Beatrix on the roof, fanning myself with a Chinese fan I'd won at a carnival a few years back.

One scalding day, when our house's electricity went down, I decided to go to out. I wasn't sure where I was going to go, so I called Beatrix and asked if her electricity was on. It wasn't, but she told me that we could go for a walk together. I decided I'd like that.

What I didn't know is that Beatrix had cleverly led me to the high school nearby, where the football field was open. I asked her what we were doing there—I could hear the yells of kids playing football, but she only patted my shoulder and led me on the bleachers. Beatrix, if you didn't know, is a flirt.

Sitting on the bleachers with my back sopping with sweat in the hot sunlight, I got thirsty. Beatrix was busy cheering for the boys, but I asked her anyways.

"Bee?" I said, interrupting her mid-giggle-squeal. "Where's the closest gas station? I'm thirsty."

"Oh, are you?" she said softly, sounding kind of distracted.

"Bee, I'm thirsty," I repeated. No answer. I shook her. "Bea-_trix_!"

"What, what? Oh, alright, we'll go buy a—hey, whoa, wait!"

"What?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"Oh my lord," she said slowly. "Oh. My. Lord."

"_What?_"

"What are—oh wow, what are the Curtis Brothers and their little friends doing here?" She sounded pleased to see them.

"They're here?" I asked. "Okay, let's leave." I grabbed her arm and prepared to stand.

"Wait, why?" she asked, shaking loose of my grip.

"They think I'm crazy," I explained hurriedly. In truth, I hadn't fully forgiven them for laughing at me when I claimed "Now _let's go _before they see us."

"Mmm, is that Sodapop Curtis?" she said appreciatively, ignoring me. "Wow, he's a doll."

"Bee!" I hushed in a strained whisper. She was so loud.

It was too late. I heard Soda's cheerful, happy voice call out, "Hey look, fellas, we got ourselves some fans!"

"Isn't that the blind girl and her friend?" Steve asked loudly from below. Dumb Steve.

"The _blind girl _has a name!" I shouted back. Without warning, I grabbed Beatrix and yanked her down the bleachers, trying my best not to fall.

Right when Beatrix and I were leaving the field, Dally said, "What, you don't like football?"

He said it almost tauntingly. I didn't get this guy. One moment he was taunting me, the next saving my butt, and then the next complaining about it.

"I play," Beatrix said. I could bet fifty bucks she was twirling the silky waves of her hair.

"Great," said Two-Bit.

"But not now," I blurted. "Beatrix has to, uh, get me a soda and drop me home."

"No need," said Soda, and he grabbed my hand and put a cold bottle in it. "We come prepared. I hope you like Pepsi."

I wasn't sure whether to accept it and stay or refuse it and leave. I was never comfortable around

"How's your nose?" Ponyboy asked in a quiet voice. Absentmindedly, I touched it gingerly.

"It's okay."

"Alright, then, you sit down, uhm, what's-your-name," Steve said, guiding me to the bleachers forcefully. He practically pushed me down to sit. Then he said to everyone else, "Alright guys, let's choose teams."

I pressed my lips together and popped the pop bottle open with my bare hands (a good talent) and took a swig. I couldn't believe Beatrix would ditch me for a couple of guys. I wondered if she liked one of them.

After about fifteen minutes, everyone sat down, breathing heavily from all the exercise. I frowned at them.

"Hey, you can really play, Beatrix," Two-Bit said. "It's rare to come across a girl who can handle a football well, and that's not counting the ones that only touch it just to hit you with it in the nuts." He let out a cheerful laugh. "But really. Good job."

"Gee, thanks," Beatrix said in a beaming voice. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"You know what?" Two-Bit said. "Why don't you join Soda, Pony, and me at the Nightly Double tonight?"

"And Felt," added Sodapop. Good ol' Soda.

"Sure, we'd love to go," Beatrix said.

"No, I'm busy tonight," I said at the exact same time.

Beatrix shoved me in the ribs. "What're you talking about? You're not busy."

"I'm blind. How will I watch the movie?"

"You can listen," Bee pleaded. I could practically feel her looking at me. I sighed. "Fine."

We left a few minutes after. When we were on the street, Bee let out a deep sigh.

"You were rude to them, Felt," she said.

"How was I rude?"

"They offered for us to go with them! You haven't had a date since what, Johnny?"

"It's _not _a date," I corrected. "Two-Bit meant to ask _you_, and if it weren't for Soda, I wouldn't have been invited. And," I added hastily, "Johnny and I never officially dated!" It was like an insult to me for her to say that. Johnny and I had something…well, something that can't be expressed with words like "he's my boyfriend" or "we're dating" or even "I love you". It was pure and simple, and could only be felt.

"Maybe Soda digs you," Bee said glumly. That was Bee—she wanted everyone for herself.

"Soda reminds me of my cousin," I said. "I even told him that."

"What about Dally, hmm?" she said mischievously, prodding my ribs again. "The passionate tension between the two of you is almost equal to a Soap."

"Ew, ew, ew," I confirmed. Not only did I absolutely dislike Dallas Winston for his rude and mean attitude, but he was Johnny's idol and his best friend. What kind of girl would do that to her dead, well, lover?

"I'm only kidding," Bee said. "Geez."

My mom was pretty quick to allow me to go to the movies with Beatrix, but that was probably because I didn't tell her that boys would be involved. Even if they were Johnny's friends, Mom wouldn't have liked the idea.  
>I would love to tell you that I wore the best-looking clothes in town and that I curled my already-curly hair and added considerable amounts of make-up to highlight my perfectly gorgeous (and nonexistent) features, but then I'd be telling you that Beatrix took over my body. I pretty much slipped into a casual cotton dress and snapped my oldest, tattered denim jacket over it. I hated trying to act "beautiful", or whatever women call "beautiful" nowadays, because I don't care about "beauty" because I can't see it. It's real complicated.<p>

Beatrix, however, bragged about her cute dress with splashes of flowers, and all I did was listen with deaf ears, because in truth, I didn't care what she wore to a drive-in movie. I mean, it was just a movie, for heaven's sake. If jeans weren't still considered unfeminine and, well, ridiculous for women, I would've worn them in a heartbeat. But this was the early 70's. Things like that were still in development.

Beatrix didn't own a car, so we walked to the Nightly Double. Sure enough, she stiffened up as we made it past the rows of cars and took our seats, because Soda, Two-Bit, and Pony where there. I could tell by their voices.

"Hello, fellas," she said, helping me slide down the third row. It was very uncomfortable—I could feel their knees behind my legs and knew that if I fell over, I'd land in one of their laps.

Bee sat between Two-Bit and Soda, and I took the far end next to Ponyboy. I felt very out of place as the movie started. Neither Bee, Two-Bit, or Sodapop could keep their trap shut for fifteen minutes, and Pony and I were just engrossed in the movie—well, pretending to be—so that we didn't feel left out. Finally, Pony spoke.

"Your nose gettin' any better?"

"Yeah," I said back, although he'd asked me that same exact question earlier in the day.

"So…" he sounded as if he was going to ask something uncomfortable or surprising.

"Ask," I said.

"What—how do you know I was going to ask you something?"

"Pony…when someone's blind, they pick up on all their other senses."

"Oh," he said quietly. Then he asked, "How did you meet Johnny Cade?"

I smiled as I told him about how a car nearly ran over me, and how Johnny was the one who saved me. That pretty much hit off the conversation. He told me about Johnny's love for the book _Gone with the Wind. _I'd read it once, as they had made the Braille copy. He described how terrified he'd been when Johnny had killed that Soc. I asked him what Johnny's last words were, and he said it was, _Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold_. We became pretty good friends that night; he reminded me of a little brother, and I decided him my favorite Curtis, right next to Soda. Pony was about to recite the Robert Frost poem for me when suddenly two heavy hands clamped on my shoulders and squeezed so tight it hurt. I almost jumped out of my skin. Then came the voice:

"What's a girl like you doing with a whole bunch of filthy greasers like these guys?"


	8. Chapter 8

_The world is filled with unlikely friendships. Odd pairings that, to the casual observer, make absolutely no sense at all.  
>But if we look closer we can see why these alliances form. After all, a shared purpose can give even mortal enemies common ground.<em>

-Desperate Quotes

Eight

I jumped and yelped and wondered frantically who had their hands on me…only to hear the wheezy, cocky laughter...it was none other than stupid Steve.

"Steve," groaned Ponyboy. Steve laughed harder and I folded my arms over my chest as he hopped over the seat."

"Sorry, Feeling, I didn't mean to scare ya," he said distractedly, and also getting my name wrong. "Hey, Soda," he called out, "how's it been?"

I grit my teeth. "My name is _Felt._ Not 'Feeling'."

"Same thing," Steve said dismissively.

I might find it useful to explain the reason behind my name. You see, when my mom gave birth to me, her original idea was to name me Ariel Pederson, but when she found out that I was blind, my father suggested that they give me a name with more meaning. Hence, they named me after a loved fabric and a sense that I had well—Felt—because I felt things straight to the heart, not the eyes. Ariel remains my middle name, though. I took lots of pride in my name, and Steve had prodded the demon in me when he humiliated me.

"What're you doing here?" Pony asked Steve.

"I got bored," was his lazy reply. He yawned. "How's the movie?"

Pony made up a plotline since neither of us listened well to the movie. I suddenly felt sleepy and tired, so I asked Pony quietly if we could get some popcorn. He offered to go get it by himself, but I didn't want to be left alone with Steve, so I followed him.

"Don't mind Steve," Pony said as the guy at the counted filled up our cups with popcorn. "I don't know why he acts like that around you. Usually he loves being around girls."

"The pretty kind," I reasoned. "The ones with eyes so that they can do their own makeup."

Pony didn't say anything, because I figured he didn't know how to respond. We got out the line, and just as we were about to go back, Pony said, "Oh hey, do you want a soda?"

"Sure," I said.

Ponyboy told me to hold the popcorn and stand in the corner while he got the soda. The line must've been long—all the heat and voices made me figure. A minute or two passed, when suddenly a male voice said,

"Felt. What a wonderful surprise."

It wasn't a voice I recognized, so I raised my eyebrows and asked, "Who are you?"

The boy laughed. "You probably don't remember me. It was so long ago when we last saw each other. Let me remind you…Thanksgiving '56?"

I thought real hard. Back in '56, I lived in that small two-story house not too far from the one I lived in now. I still couldn't remember, however, so I asked politely, "I'm sorry, I don't remember."

"The boy in the pinstripe suit?"

It hit me then that this guy that approached me was a very old family friend's son. "Norbert?"

"Oh geez," he said in a hushed whisper, "no one calls me that nowadays. It's Flynn."

Norbert Flynn Sheldon was an extremely annoying boy that was always invited over for holidays and always wore a pinstripe suit to them. He lived down the street, and from what I remembered, he always smelled like arrogance and sweet pea, which is an intriguing mix for a boy especially. He was loud, rude, and if he didn't get what he wanted (let's say, perhaps, a toy) he'd steal it. I used to hate him a lot, and I was so grateful when he moved in '57. He was nosy, and if he'd ever known about Johnny and me, he would've certainly caused trouble. I used to think he had a crush on me—which was gross, because he was a jerk. He sounded very mature now, and I hoped he changed his ways over the course of years.

"Alright," I said, "Flynn. Nice to see you. I thought you moved?"

"Oh, I did," he said, "but I've come back to stay with my dad. I read about you in the newspapers—with the break in and all. It's pretty lousy stuff that goes around in the dark of the night around here."

He sounded like he was trying to act experienced and much of a know-it-all-and-more.

"Um, the break-in happened in the day," I reminded him.

"Oh," he said, deflated. "Right. Well, what brings you here?"

I gestured behind me to where the movie was running. "I'm here with friends."

"Pretty charming with the people of Tulsa, hm?" he teased. He sounded so arrogant and ignorant that I felt repulsive towards him already. It was the kind of inexperienced arrogance—different from Dallas Winston, for example, who had hardened beyond feeling and emotions. Flynn sounded, well, immature.

"Sure," I said. "Well, I'd better go, my friend has probably already gotten the sodas—"

"You never fixed your eyesight?"

He said it so bluntly and crudely that I raised my eyebrows. "Uh, no?"

"That's too bad," he joked, "because if you saw me, you'd be pretty impressed."

I didn't know what to say, because I was contemplating how much I disliked him already. The good thing was I ended up not having time to say anything at all, because Ponyboy came back with the slush of ice and soda following his steps. "Okay, Felt I—"

He froze abruptly. I sensed a sudden tension in the air, like as if someone was in a small river, and they were holding their breath because the enemy was blindly in the water with them.

"Felt, who's your friend?" Flynn asked, sounding slightly on edge.

"This is, um," I had a momentary panic-attack, but I continued mindlessly, "Ponyboy Curtis. He's friends with a few of my friends. Pony, this is an, uh, old family…friend."

I was so confused as to why neither of them were saying anything. Then, Flynn made the sound of slapping his pockets, and put a firm hand on my shoulder. "Well, I'll be going, then. Be, uh, careful Felt."

I tried to smile, but I bet it looked more like a grimace. Flynn left and Ponyboy stayed put.

"Do you wanna go back to the movies?" I asked, wondering what was going on.

"Felt," Pony said, ignoring my question, "that boy…who is he?"

"He's a family friend, why?"

"No, I mean what's his name?"

"Norbert Flynn." Pony was starting to creep me out. He said nothing, but I could hear him taking therapeutic breaths. "Ponyboy, what's wrong?"

"He…uh, well…he looks like…"

"Looks like _who_?"

"Bob Sheldon…The Soc that Johnny killed.'

I froze. "Sheldon is Flynn's last name."

It was pretty clear that the two of them were ninety percent related.

I guess the both of us felt too sick to sit still and watch a movie, because both of us knew that we wouldn't be able to focus. We ditched Two-Bit, Steve, Soda, and Bee and decided to walk home. Pony knew the streets real well. Once I told him my address, he knew exactly where to go, despite him never really being out of the East side a lot.

Pony and I walked in silence, and our minds were glazed over. The walk wasn't complicated and the sidewalk wasn't easy to trip on; Pony had to remind me to stop when we were about to cross a street. But other than that, I was left to soak in my memories.  
>I wondered if Flynn and Bob were cousins. Flynn didn't have any siblings, so it was out of the question that the two of them be brothers. But did Flynn know that his relative was killed? Maybe he did, and maybe that's why he was in Tulsa…I got a wild idea. <em>Maybe he was going to avenge his relative's death? But how? Johnny's already dead.<em>

"Hey, Pony, you didn't tell me you had a date!"

The voice was Dallas Winston's, and it came directly behind me. I yelped and jumped, and Dally laughed. First Steve…now Dally.

"Dally, where'd you come from?" Pony asked him. Dally hung an arm around my shoulder and shifted his weight on my arm. I smelled beer and cigarette smoke and cologne, and it burned my nostrils. I tried to push him off, but he was too heavy. He must've had his other arm around Ponyboy, because Pony made a grunt as if he were also under the pressure.

"Shoot kid," he said with a chuckle, "I got lonely. Luckily, there was a whole bunch of beer…HEY!" He yelled so loud in my ear. I jumped and pulled away, my eardrums tickling.

"What?" I snapped briskly. He gave a little chuckle.

"You're that blind broad…Sight, is it?"

"It's...Felt..." I strained to say as I tried to lift his arm off of me and push him away at the same time. I soon gave up and sighed wearily.

"Dally, you won't believe who I ran into," Pony said seriously.

"Buddha?"

"Wha—no," he replied impatiently. "Bob Sheldon's relative."

"Who's that?" Dally slurred.

"_The Soc that Johnny killed, man!_"

This seemed to snap Dallas out of his drunken state. "What? Where was he?"

"At the Nightly Double," Pony explained in a quivering voice. "He's Felt's—"

He paused, as if waiting for my permission to go on.

"My annoying old family friend," I finished for him.

"Socs will always know other Socs," Dally muttered. I guess he meant for it to be for Pony to hear, but I heard anyways.

"How many times must I tell you I'm not a Soc? Neither am I a greaser! I'm just—"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. I didn't want to finish, because Dally wouldn't have cared. I could've been his sister and he would've still hated me. Dally seemed to have regained control of his balance and he removed his arm from me and Pony's shoulders.

I heard the light of a match box and then the smell of smoke filled my nostrils again. I winced. "God, why do you smoke? Don't you know it's bad for you?"

"Yeah," Pony said, sounding like his lips were closed on a cigarette. I didn't believe _he_ was smoking, but I guess I was wrong.

"What did he say to you, Pony?"

"I—well, he gave me this funny look, and I can't tell whether it's because he thought it was strange that a greaser would be with a S—Felt,"-he hastily corrected when I narrowed my eyes—"or if it was because he recognized me from the newspapers from a while ago."

"Hmm," was all Dally said, sounding deep in his thoughts.

"Dally," Pony desperately began, "you don't think that Norbert guy knows that it was Johnny that killed him, right?"

"It wouldn't matter, would it?" I asked Dally as well. "I mean, Johnny's…gone."

Dally sighed. "If he is related to Bob, then death isn't good enough. He'll want to fight Pony as well. Maybe even me, since I was involved."

Pony made a squeak at the sound of his own name.

I realized right then what a vital person Dally is to the gang. Not only is he the toughest and meanest of the gang, but he's pretty smart and intelligent and has the most experience in the worst of situations. For a moment there, I actually admired him. But then I remembered that there are things more important than even intelligence and experience: bravery, kindness, and friendship. Or so, my father had told me.

A few iced-over minutes later, Pony informed me that we were near my house. As I recognized the sidewalk that had the familiar level pattern that I knew, I thanked Pony (and even Dally) for walking me home. Halfway up the driveway, Dallas said,

"Hey, Felt?"

"What?"

"If you see that guy again…tell Pony or me."

"Alright." I walked a little bit further up the driveway, then paused, and turned back. "Dallas?"

"What?"

"…Thanks for saving my life from that car a while ago."

He said nothing in return, and I figured that he and Pony were already walking away, so I made it to the door. Right when I was about to press the doorbell, Pony called out, "Wait!"

"What?" I asked, slightly impatient.  
>"When Dallas called you a Soc...you were going to say you were something. What was it?"<br>I sighed. "I'm just a human being, Pony. Born without a label."  
>Even he didn't reply then, so I pressed the doorbell and listened to his footsteps shuffle off with Dally's already a block away.<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Shortest chapter ever...sorry :[ **

_Friendship is a ship that sails through many waters. Even if it sinks, it still remains in the bottom of the ocean in your heart._

-Connie Reese

Nine

*Felt*

The next two weeks passed by almost in a slow drone. I spent most of my days helping my mom out in the kitchen. Cooking is a good hobby of mine, despite being blind, and I have such powerful listening, tasting, and touching senses that I'm almost pro at it.

On days when there was nothing to cook, I went for walks with Beatrix and Soda the Dog. I'm not going to lie—she often led me unknowingly to the DX just so that she and Soda—who were hitting it off pretty well—could talk. Well, I was left to wander aisles and touch all the items they had, and secretly envied Bee for having found someone to be close with. It was during those times that I missed Johnny the most in my life.

One day, after walking tiredly for an hour around the DX, I was growing a bit impatient with Soda and Bee. So I decided to sit on the curb outside of the DX, under the shade of the roof where the cars could get fuel.

I was humming along to a Beatles song, Blackbird, when suddenly, a car whizzed past me so fast that my hair stung my face. It stopped, probably to get fuel. I thought it was Dally and his car that wasn't really his. Angrily, I yelled, "What do you want, Dallas?"

"Felt?" It wasn't Dally, but right when I heard the voice, I ultimately wished it was. Shoot, I'd even prefer an axe murderer over Norbert Flynn. I hoped Soda or Bee would notice him—but then again, they had no idea what the issue with Flynn was.

Flynn's car door popped open and he sat next to me. I scooted further away from him by an inch.

"What're you doing here?"

"Waiting for someone," I mumbled, jabbing a thumb behind me.

"Who?" Flynn persisted. He was getting very nosy, so I was about to snap, "None of your business," when the door to the DX squeaked as it swung open, and Sodapop called, "Felt, I, uh, kind of need you in here."

I could feel Flynn's eyes burning wholes through mine. "You know that…that…_grease_?"

"Yeah I—" I paused. "Wait a minute! Ex-_cuse _me?"

"Felt, just c'mon in," Soda said in a slightly higher pitched voice.

"He's a greaser,' Flynn explained casually. "A JD. A no-good-hood. You have to know that, Felt. He's lower class."

I don't remember clearly what happened after that, but it went by real fast. All I know is that I began punching the lights out of that boy. I have a very bad temper whenever people do something unfair or wrong. Then I felt arms beneath my shoulders, hoisting me up like a doll. My feet were dangling slightly from the ground and my arms felt sore like rubber when the person had grabbed me. The person behind me, who had a voice like Soda, began shouting off at Flynn, and pretty soon, I was sitting down on a stool in the DX, fanning myself down, and Soda handed me a water bottle.

"Whoa, boy," Soda said, whistling. "I didn't know you could fight."

Well, the truth was, neither did I. "He's terrible. I hate him." I took a long sip of water.

"You know him?" Bee asked.

"Oh yeah," I said, wiping my mouth. "He's Norbert Flynn."

I didn't tell them the whole story, because I didn't want either of them worrying. It was bad enough that Flynn hated greasers. I didn't want them knowing that he was the cousin of that Soc that Johnny killed. It would do them no good to know. So for now, it was Pony's, Dally's, and my secret.

A couple of days passed by and Flynn would constantly come over to my house to say hi to my mom.

"Hello, Mrs. Pederson," he'd said the first time he came over. "You have no idea about all the trouble I had to go through to find your house."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Norbert Flynn Sheldon." He said his name as if the whole world worshipped him like he was the king of England.

Of course Mom had recognized him and immediately let him in the house. She had forced me to hug him, even though I already did that night at the movies. Then the two of them would sit together and eat cookies and talk. She found him pleasant. I found him disgusting.

He came over often. I thought he was just trying to win over my mom's heart or something. Those days, I'd lock myself up in my room or go for a walk with Soda the Dog. Tulsa was becoming familiar to my feet. One day, I got so bored listening to Mom and Flynn have a real casual conversation that I went out in the front lawn with Soda the Dog and tried to train him to get used to a new name. It took me the whole afternoon, but he finally responded to Pepsi. So, Pepsi he was.

One day, when the weather was cool, "Pepsi" and I went out for a walk just to get a soda at the DX. Sure enough, Soda greeted me right when I walked in.

"Hey, Soda," I said, finding my way to the counter. "Can you get me a soda?"

"Coke or Pepsi-Cola?" he asked.

"Coke."

As I drank it right there in the store, I listened to Soda explain to me more about his brothers. He told me about how strict Darry is and how Soda used to be the middle man in all the situations. Soon, he told me that Ponyboy's fifteenth birthday was coming up.

"It's July the twenty-second," he explained. "I don't know what to get him for his birthday."  
>"Well, why don't you take him out?" I suggested. "It's more memorable than a gift." My brain lit up. "My mom told me about this really cool restaurant in the outskirts of Tulsa. It's kind of like a pie restaurant…they only sell pies, and they cook 'em real good. They've got, like, a hundred different flavors."<p>

"We don't have the money." Soda sounded embarrassed.

"Well, if you invite me, I'll pay," I said, smiling.

"We'll invite you, but we can't let you pay," Soda said hastily. "Darry'll kill me for takin' money from a blind girl, and—"

"Darry can go to France," I said dismissively. "I'll pay, and that's final."

"But—"

"And if Darry has a problem, then he shouldn't come," I reasoned. Soda let out a laugh, and even Pepsi wheezed in amusement, because even I already knew that Darry wouldn't miss Ponyboy's birthday for the world.


	10. Chapter 10

**This chapter may be a little slow, but the next one will be better, I promise!**

*Ten dollars in 1970 was equivalent to $55.20 in 2009.

_The world is my sister and its soul is mine. _

-The Tree Colonists

Ten

*Dally*

Sodapop had sent Steve to ask me, Two-Bit and Darry to get over to the DX straight away. Well, I was kind of tired and still a little hung over from drinking last night, but when Steve insisted that it was for Ponyboy, I went. I'd gotten to like that kid. Pony, I mean.

"What's all the trouble?" I asked Steve while we hopped into his car. Steve shrugged and drove us to the DX. I was kind of confused with what was going on.

"Where's Ponyboy?" Sodapop asked Darry excitedly once we were in. I shook out my cigarette pack out of my sleeve, and ignored when Two-Bit pointed to the "No Smoking sign."

"He's in the house," Darry said impatiently, wiping his hands on his jeans. "You're risking a lot, Sodapop Patrick Curtis, for sendin' Steve to get us and makin' Two-Bit leave Pony alone. Now will you tell me what's going on and why Pony can't know?"

"Well, since Pony's birthday's this month," Soda went on quietly, "I've decided I want to take him out to a restaurant out in the outskirts of Tulsa."

"You decided?" Darry snorted sarcastically. "You don't make the descicions. I do."

"I know, I know," Soda said impatiently. Darry's a bit harsh sometimes. In case, you know, you didn't take note. "But it's a real cool restaurant! They make pies—lots of signature, old, country-style pies. Two-Bit and Dally and Steve can come. It'll be our treat. Won't Pony like that?"

"Bake the little runt a cake," Steve muttered as he walked in from the back door to grab a wrench. "It's cheap and quick."

I don't think Soda heard him. Either that or he ignored it. Steve's got this problem with Pony, and I could never understand why.

"I don't have the money to treat everyone," Darry said, and I could tell he was kind of embarrassed about it. I didn't get why—he had some money, unlike me. I had to steal anything I wanted to buy. "Those restaurants with signature foods are real expensive. I mean, we're talking twenty dollars

"I can pay for myself," Two-Bit offered cheerfully.

"How?" I asked, laughing. "You don't got a job!"

Two-Bit crossed his arms. "Neither do you."

"Pony deserves a good birthday present," Soda complained. "It's his fifteenth, after all. Isn't that the age when some of those kids have those big birthday bashes?"

"That's the sixteenth," I said, and everybody gave me a funny look. "What?" I asked with a grin. I'd had my own kind of birthday bash when I turned sixteen. It was more of a beer blast, but it was cool.

"Well that girl, Felt, made me an offer," Soda said excitedly. "She said she'd pay."

"Felt?" Two-Bit asked.

"That can't be right." Darry scratched the back of his neck. Even I thought it was suspicious—that broad was a little different. I wouldn't accept so much as a penny from her. It didn't matter that she was Johnny's friend. Well, not a lot, anyways.

"She gave me the idea," Soda said. "C'mon Darry, she's a nice girl, and she's our friend. Just the other day, she attacked a Soc for callin' me a greaser—"

"She did?" I asked, almost gagging.

"Yeah," Soda said. "Nearly clawed his eyes out. What's his name? N—"

"Wait a minute," I said in disbelief. "Are we still talking about the short blind girl here? Feeling or somethin' like that?"

"Felt," Soda said, kind of distracted, as he was giving Darry pleading eyes.

"I can't let her pay for everything," Darry said concernedly. "And I don't have the money to do it…"

"Oh, come on, Darry!" Two-Bit pleaded. "It's Pony's fifteenth!"

Darry sighed and wiped his forehead. I kicked back and waited for his answer. Finally, Darry sighed again and said sternly to Soda, "She can pay one-fourth, and the rest, well, me and you will have to work overtime. Pony's birthday's in two weeks, and it'll take a bunch of extra hours—"

I don't think Soda heard, or cared, because he'd already tackled Darry in a hug. That made me crack a smile. The way them Curtis brothers stick together is tuff. In New York, you try and hug a fellow hood and you'd get blasted with a heater. Even if they're your brothers. But Soda and Darry cared a lot about Ponyboy. _He sure is lucky. _

"I'll still pay for myself," Two-Bit said cheerfully. "My mom will—"

"I'll take care of ya," Darry said to Two-Bit, slapping his back. "Only for now, though."

"You're gonna come too, huh, Dally?" Soda asked. He looked so happy—it kind of reminded me of a puppy expecting the best.

"Eh, I'll try," I said lazily. Soda grinned, just because he knows that in my language, that means yes.

*Felt*

I'd bitten off more than I can chew when I said that I would be able to pay and organize for Ponyboy's birthday. I did my research with Soda and found out that the Apple Pie Plus restaurant was extremely expensive because of their famous talent for baking pies. I'm talking eight dollars per _entry_.

Even when Sodapop had informed me that Darry had made a deal—he'd three-fourths of the expense and I'd pay one-fourth, I remembered that I wasn't allowed to use my savings as they were for college, so I had to work for my money. There isn't much a blind girl can do, but I'm an artist, and I work real well with clay, so the next two weeks or so, I spent my time making sculptures and selling them to the antique store on Sutton. I mostly sculpted dogs—I'd use Pepsi as my guide.

Mom got suspicious when I asked her to help me count my money. I asked every night or so. She wondered what I was saving up for, and for a time, I'd joke and say it was for a car. One Saturday, I was counting up my last savings and it was only a few days from Pony's birthday, which was on Wednesday. Mom was helping me and she wanted the hard truth on what I was doing saving up all my money. I couldn't bear lying to my mother, so I confessed.

"Mom, I've made some friends," I began, "and they're…well…they aren't too rich or anything and the littlest one's birthday is coming up…so I promised to help with the expense."

"What?" Mom asked, sounding bewildered. "Who are these friends? They sound like a bunch of money-suckers to me."

"Mom, they're the Curtis brothers—"

"They're boys!" Mom sounded real mad about this. I should explain that in the past, my mom has had real bad experiences with boys, and they always broke her heart or something of the sort, so she doesn't really trust me around them. Even if I'm going to be eighteen in May, I'm not allowed to date. It's not because she's mean—it's just because she cares. Maybe too much.

"Mom, will you let me finish?" I said impatiently.

She took a deep breath and patted my knee. "Okay."

"They're Johnny's friends," I said, and when I heard her take a breath as if she was going to say something, I hastily added, "_Not _like the boy that broke into my house. They're real disciplined. Unbelievably disciplined," I added, remembering Soda's description on what Darry would do if he or Pony had ever gotten caught breaking the law.

Mom hesitated for a while. I wanted to tell her that they'd taken care of me—but then I remembered Mom didn't know that I'd nearly gotten run over in the first place. I tried something that I heard works on parents—I put out my bottom lip and blinked furiously. "Pleeeease?"

"I'll need to meet with their parents," she said finally.

Soda's words came back to my head from our old conversation. _Darry's only strict because our parents are dead. He acts like the both of them and twice as strict. _"Mom, they don't have parents."

"What? Who takes care of them?"

"The eldest brother," I explained. "Darrel. He's…what, twenty one?"

Mom heaved out another worried sigh. "I…I don't know, baby. It just seems a little fishy, okay?"

"But they're real nice boys," I complained. "Mom, I'm sorry, but not all boys are complete jerks who only want one thing from women."

"I know that," Mom said with a chuckle. "I mean, look at your father…and your old friend, Norbert."

I frowned. My mom can be a little gullible sometimes. "Please, Mom?"

"Alright," Mom said reluctantly. "Whatever you want to do with your money is your business."

"YES!" I jumped up and hugged my mom real tight.

"…But I've got to meet this Darrel Curtis."

And so I obeyed her wish, no matter how embarrassing it was. I figured that Darry or Soda would be home on Sundays. I called Bee and asked her if she remembered where the Curtis house was and if she knew there number, because I wanted to warn them that I would be coming over. She was confused on why I wanted to know, and she didn't have their number, but she gave me the directions nonetheless. Mom wrote them down and then, after grabbing Pepsi, we drove to the address. By then, it was around six and the air was damp with sunset and the crickets were chirping a sad lullaby. The hot wind kissed at my face.

"Decent looking house," Mom said as we stepped out the car.

I laughed. "What are you, the house inspector?"

Pepsi led me to the front door and I knocked.

"Who's it?" I recognized the voice as Darry's.

"Uh, Darry, it's Felt…" I hoped I wasn't blushing, because all I was thinking was, _I hope they don't think I'm some kind of freak…and I hope they've got on shirts! _Bee had told me about how when I'd been unconscious and she'd come to see me, Soda was shirtless. Imagine what my mom would think if she saw that!

"The door's open," Darry said. I could already imagine my mom tightening her lips at their carelessness. But when I placed my fingertips to her mouth, I felt that she was actually quite relaxed.

I hesitantly opened the door and was greeted by a whiff of something that smelled like roast chicken. Mom smelled it too, because she murmured a quick yum. Pepsi hollered happily. The house was kind of quiet, so I guessed only the Curtis brothers were home. That was good; I mean, I could handle if Two-Bit was there, but if Steve and Dally were there? No way.

"Felt!" I heard Soda say happily. He's so nice, it's unbelievable. I managed a smile, held my breath and waited for an awkward comment about my mom being there with me. But Soda only said, "You must be Felt's sister?"

Mom laughed happily and I let out a weak and relieved laugh, too. "No, I'm her mother."

"Either way, the two of you sure do resemble."

I would love to explain the entire night in great detail, but to make it short, it went well. Before Mom could talk much, Darry offered us roast chicken, and Mom and I sat down at the table and ate. Pepsi got his share, too. I stayed quiet along with Ponyboy, since Mom, Darry, and Soda did most of the talking. Mom would ask questions and they would answer. When she got into the realm of education, Darry explained that he and Soda had given up on their education to provide Pony with a good life and better education. I didn't know that, and it was really touching. They talked about their good friendship with Johnny and all about his death and how him and Pony had risked their lives to save those little kids, in which I had to hold back from shedding a tear or two.

When we left, which was a good forty-five minutes later, I asked my mom what she thought when we were driving home.

"They're good kids," she said quietly. "You know? That Darrel Curtis reminds me of your father. He had all those muscles and what not." She sighed. "They've got such a hard life, sweetie."

"I know," I said with melancholy.

"I just hope you know how lucky you are," she said sagely, and I nodded. "They've lost more and had to sacrifice more."

That night, I could've sworn I heard my mom give out a tiny little sad sniffle from the living room when I went to get water in the kitchen. Like I said before, my mom believes that twins are like half of your soul. But since she lost her twin, the world and its worries became her new one. And that night, my mom was sharing all of the Curtis's pain as if they were her twins—all of them.

I know that Mom can share emotions with anybody. But sometimes I wonder if that's a gift or a curse.


	11. Chapter 11

**This is actually kind of a bonus chapter. I didn't necessarily **_**have**_** to tell the events that occurred during Ponyboy's birthday, but I thought it would be kind of fun and relaxed as opposed to the strong emotions that always set the story to sail. So anyways, read, enjoy, review, and relax, because after this chapter, things will get complex and more emotional :} **

* * *

><p><em>Look around you, silly fools. Life is in everything.<em>

-Future from the Past

Eleven

*Dally*

Pony's birthday came around real soon. Soda had already advised a plan—neither of us so much as wished him happy birthday. Pony, of course, tried to lay the hints on us, but we had to act dumb. When he'd say, "Guess what day is it today, Dally?" I'd say, "Isn't it garbage day today?" He soon got the idea that none of us knew, and stayed quiet and sulked. Which wasn't too smart of him, since neither Darry nor Soda have ever forgotten his birthday. But Pony's still gullible.

At six o'clock, Darry piled Pony, Soda, Two-Bit, and me into his van. The look on Pony's face was priceless. He asked us repeatedly where we were goin', and all of us could only try to hide our smiles and say nothing as if we were deaf. Pony stopped pestering after a few minutes, though, because he saw that the city of Tulsa was vanishing a bit and it was becoming more country-like. Pony was always fascinated with the countryside.

The sky was melting into sunset, and when I looked at my hands, I saw that they were practically dipped golden in the light of the sky. All that I could see out the window was an endless, dusty, yellow sand and tall emerald trees and the ink black road ahead of us for miles and miles. My mind flew to Johnny. It would be Pony's first birthday without little Johnnycake around. I sighed deeply and fished in my pocket for a cigarette.

It took us a good hour and a half of a drive, but pretty soon, Darry parked in a dusty lot where a really small plaza was. It looked like a cyclone had attacked the other stores that were around it and all that was left was this tiny plaza and the country side.

"Where are we?" Pony asked for the umpteenth time.

"Relax Pony, we ain't gonna butcher ya," Soda said, throwing an arm over his shoulders.

It took me a while to see it, but in the center of a plaza was a rusty-looking restaurant. APPLE PIE PLUS, the sign read in neon red letters. "Fancy lookin' place," I muttered under my breath to Soda. "It's probably filled with Socs."

"This is the countryside," Soda said. "There is no such thing."

I wondered about this for a moment, and then smiled slightly.

We approached the large wooden door, and standing in front of it was that girl, Felt, and her dog, who was on a long leash tied to a bike rack. He licked Darry and Ponyboy and then actually tried to lick me.

"Aw, he likes you, Dally," Two-Bit teased.

"Eugh," I said, pushing the dog away. Felt reached down at petted his head. Up until then, she hadn't taken notice of me. But now her sightless eyes were pointed directly at mine and she gave me a funny look. I wondered how she knew where I was standing, and it was kind of scary to see those eerie blind eyes meeting mine without hesitation.

"Happy birthday Ponyboy," she finally said, and her eyes diverted a million miles away.

"Thanks," Pony said, startled. "You're the first one to know it's my birthday."

"Oh, you know that's not true," Darry said. "You knew that we knew once we were driving into the country. Don't try and play dumb."

Pony gave a sheepish smile. "But what are we doing here?"

"Pony, do you like pie?"

The place was great, actually. It had a warm, cozy, country style setting with dim orange lights and a live band that played relaxed music. The place was filled with all groups of people; corny families and loud teens and sickly-romantic couple—and _real_ good-lookin' waitresses. They came around with menus loaded with pictures of lots of different pies. I'm talking _very _different. I'd never tried Avocado-Buttermilk pie with gooey marshmallow on top, but it looked real yummy, so I was hoping to.

We'd ordered three large, random-flavored pies, since none of us were allergic to anything that would be found in pies. They took up the entire table. Just looking at them made my mouth water. One of the pies was a golden color and topped with sizzling vanilla ice cream and crumbs and clusters of what looked like nuts. The second was a dark brown with gooey, fluffy marshmallow that looked as if it had been smoked and wrapped in chocolate. The third was a light cream color and doused in caramel and whipped cream. We all kind of sat there eyeing and sizing up all the pies, wondering what kinds of flavors they were. Pony tried the first bite out of each, and we all kind of followed his opinion and tried the pies. It was fun, and they served beer, so I was all good.

Felt didn't talk too much, and just by doing that, she reminded me of Johnnycake. Occasionally she'd smile or put her word in, but most of the time she stayed quiet and focused on her pies. It was hard to tell whether she was listening or not, since she always had this thousand-miles away look. We were all real polite to her, kind of with the same kind of politeness that Steve's cousin would get, but something about her made me want to tease her and stuff. It was actually kind of funny when she snapped at me when I did.

Towards the end of the night, when we were stuffed, the restaurant was getting a bit rowdy and more social. A bearded man with his front teeth knocked out took to the stage where the live band was. He began rambling on, and I wasn't really listening, until he said there was a contest going on, one that, whoever won it, would get a prize of thirty-five dollars. That caught my attention.

"The only thing that's stopping you from this money is…" the bearded man whistled and all of a sudden, two hot waitresses came on the stage, rolling in with them a table covered with a cloth. "…Pie."

The rules were easy. Beneath the cloth were three plates of cubed pie. Whoever went up would get blindfolded and they'd let them try a cube of the pie and guess the flavor. Whoever could guess all three flavors would win the money. Then the man started calling for contestants.

"I'll do it!" Soda said eagerly, getting ready to stand up.

"Sure, send Soda," I said sarcastically, "because you know he'll sweet-talk those waitresses into telling him what the pies are made of."

Soda snorted. "Why don't you go up then, Dally?"

"Yeah, Dally," spoke Felt suddenly. "Why don't you?"

I glared at her, although I knew she couldn't see it. Then I said, "Yeah right. Like I'm gonna waste my time goin' up there…"

"'Cause you're chicken?" Felt asked.

"You shut your trap," I said suddenly, standing up to lean towards her, but right at that moment, a blinding white light flashed on my face. "What the—"

"You there, son!" spoke the beardless man. "Come on up here and see if you have what it takes!"

"I ain't your bloody son, you old coot—" I didn't even get to finish, because Two-Bit and Soda began dragging me towards the stage. I cursed and swore red and blue, but then, Soda and Two-Bit began clapping their hands and chanting my name and soon the whole crowd joined in. That was the first time I ever felt embarrassed.

"Alright, alright, don't lose your pants!" I grumbled, tossing my cigarette into the ash tray on the table and sitting down. One of the waitresses winked at me before tying the blindfold over my eyes, and then the place got real quiet. I got handed a fork and heard the cloth flip over, and then I poked my way to the first plate of cubed pie and at a chunk slowly. Everything was quiet, and I tried to roll my tongue over the flavor. Cherry and…cherry and…cherry and what?

_Peach. _"Cherry and peach," I announced in a low voice.

"Say again?" rasped the bearded guy.

"Cherry and peach."

There was a pause, and then the man announced, "Give him a round of applause."

I could hear our table's whistling and chants the loudest and I actually grinned. Maybe I'd actually win this money.

Feeling a little on the lighter mood, I tried the next cube of pie. This one was a little more complicated, and I could taste about three obvious flavors, which I learnt that when put together, make it all the more complicated. I guessed apple, strawberry, and lemon.

"Sorry son, that's incorrect," the bearded man announced, and then without waiting for me say so much as good day, he went right along calling for more contestants. I yanked the blindfold off of my eyes but before I could protest, the man boomed that there was another volunteer. I looked up to see who was going to try to make me seem like a fool if they got them all right, and scowled when I saw that of course, it was none other than Felt. She walked with a sort of serene simplicity and she looked independent even with Soda pulling her through the crowd. I stalked back to the table and saw that everyone was smiling smugly at me, almost like something was funny.

"What's so funny?" I snapped. They only laughed. I watched Felt take her seat as if it was a throne.

"What's your name?" the bearded man asked Felt.

"Felt," she replied with a smile. "And I know you're wondering, so I'm just going to tell you that yes, I _am _blind."

The entire restaurant found this way too funny, or they were just laughing because they were sorry for her. The bearded man switched the plates of pie and then handed Felt her fork. And what do you know? She got all three correct. She even went into depths on the kind of milk used. So she won the thirty-five dollars. The crowd applauded like crazy, and when the bearded man asked what she was going to do with the money, she said:

"It all goes to Ponyboy."

Later in the night, when Darry was dropping her and her dog home, Two-Bit was praising her for attacking that Soc (I later learned it was none other than Norbert Flynn Sheldon), and when Pony asked her why she risked it, she simply smiled.

"No one has the right to label someone else. We're all born just being beautiful life, and we'll all die being beautiful life. There are no social classes or difference in skin tone. The only people who create those titles are the people themselves. We're born into this world for the moment, and it should last that way forever. We're all born being purely life at its greatest moment"

I'll admit I did think about that for a moment. Was even I born one day to my mom just as, well, life?

As if she read my mind, Felt said, "Even Dallas Winston."

I cracked a smile. Oh, Johnny's girl. I didn't know whether to believe her crazy theories about the world and life, because I'd grown to learn that life is what other people make it for you, but even if I didn't believe the theories, they'd still make me smile a little.

But she can't see that. Thankfully.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hooray, guys! Chapter Twelve :D Please enjoy, excuse any spelling errors as my keyboard is a little stiff on the keys, and REVIEW! Also, please check out my other fanfiction :] THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED! Love to you all!**

**Oh and SORRY for the really long wait for the update! I was chilling with the cousin :D**

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><p><em>History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.<em>_  
><em>**-**Maya Angelou

Twelve

*Felt*

Pony's birthday was good. I hadn't been to a birthday party in so many years, so it felt good to be around humble people. Pony deserved the money—it was his birthday, after all, and I didn't need to feel like I was squeezing the life out of myself because I was using my money for others, because my sculptures were selling faster and better than ever before. So it was all good.

However: Two days after Ponyboy's birthday, while taking my walk with Pepsi, I bumped straight into none other than Norbert Flynn Sheldon. I hadn't forgotten that he'd insulted Sodapop by calling him a filthy hood, so being in his company quickly made me bitter. I can be really nasty when I want to be, and I was at my worst. I was even ready to have to attack him. But I couldn't risk letting him know that he'd really got to me. Flynn was one of those jerk-guys, the kinds that enjoy tapping into peoples' anger.

"Well, look who's looking good," he said with false good-natured-ness. Even a compliment from him sounded like an insult.

"I'm blind," I reminded him enthusiastically, and then tried to walk away, but rammed straight back into Flynn's outstretched arm.

"What's your problem?" he demanded.

"You!" I reminded him, and tried to leave again, but he stopped me.

"What did I do?"

"You're seriously crazy," I spat. "How do you act as though you're all pure and innocent when you talk bad about other people?"

"_That's _what's wrong?" Flynn laughed. "Those rotten guys are friends with the guys that killed my cousin. But you wouldn't know that."

_So he does know that Johnny killed Bob. _"So?" I snapped. "Sorry, but your brother was drunk and looking for a fight. And besides, it was out of self-defense."

"He was—wait a minute, they told you?"

_Um. What do I say?_ "Yes, they did."

He scoffed. "That's unbelievable. How can you know that those animals are the scums that kill good people like my cousin and still be friends with them?"

I had so many things that I could've told him right then and there, but for some reason, it all got jumbled together in my anger. So instead I snapped back, "It was out of self-defense!"

"At least one of the boys involved got what was coming for them," Flynn went on, ignoring what I said. He sounded oddly calm, like a psycho murderer. "He died in a church fire, what a coincidence…I bet it really hurt…and he actually got praised in the newspapers for pretending to be a hero…bastard…"

Cold sweat popped out from my armpits as I realized he was talking about Johnny. _My _Johnny. I didn't know what to tell him, because the anger was ringing in my ears. I was _so _angry, it was beyond feeling or physical fighting. If I was looking directly into Flynn's eyes, I bet he'd see so much passionate hate that his own eyes would disintegrate into ashes. I bawled my fists and Pepsi barked worriedly, sensing my wrath.

There was joy swimming in Flynn's words as he asked, "Why are you so quiet?"

I didn't know what to tell him. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, an explosion would happen or something. But I had to tell him something. Anything.

"Felt!" he shook my shoulders unnecessarily, and I pulled away from him so hard that I nearly fell.

"You sonofab!tch!" I pushed him, hard. To my surprise, he yelped and fell. I felt very good about this, and I stormed off.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he called out after me. I said nothing. "_I'm going to tell your mother!_"

"Go ahead!" I yelled right back. "She loves my friends—we even had dinner with them!"

His silence pleased me. I smirked, feeling oddly happy. It was the kind of happiness that rings in your ears because all you really want to do is cry because you're angry.

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><p>August flew by on wings. During the days, I visited the Curtis brothers once or twice a week, just to keep up and get rid of my loneliness, since Beatrix and her parents traveled to Colorado for a reunion. I read more frequently, since I would start my last year of schooling by a home-school teacher in September and I was kind of slacking off.<p>

On the twenty-ninth of August my mother took me and Pepsi to the Tulsa cemetery. It was my dad's birthday, and I hadn't visited his grave in four terribly long years, so my mom had made a bouquet of the best smelling flowers to take to him.

"Here we are," Mom breathed quietly when the car stopped. I heard her unbuckle her seatbelt and pop the car door open. The air was smooth and calm and the entire place smelled like dewy grass and flowers.

"We should probably leave Pepsi in the car, Mom," I reminded her, reaching behind my seat to pat Pepsi's silky head. "I don't want him digging up graves."

Pepsi whimpered and nuzzled against my palm.

"I'll be right back, I promise."

I hopped out of the car and took my mother's spare hand, and together we walked past tombstones. It was a long walk and I stumbled often on a stray pebble or rock. But soon enough, we reached a tombstone that must've been tall because I could feel it shading my entire body from the sun.

"Here it is…" Mom said in a quiet voice. I reached forward and felt the cool, smooth marbled rock, fingered the letters that spelled "Thomas J. Pederson" and the numbers of his sunrise and set. I leaned on the ledge of the tombstone and sang happy-birthday to Dad while my mother was muttering softly to herself. I hope she wouldn't cry. I don't like listening to Mom cry—it makes me feel all weak as if the world has lost all hope whatsoever.

When my mom ceased her quiet muttering, we bade Dad goodbye and went back home. I was reminded immediately of a song my father taught me as a kid. It went like this:

_Goodbye, angel_

_Until morning comes_

_Please take good care _

_Until morning comes_

_And if you're busy_

_Spare me a blessing_

_So I can sleep sweet tonight_

_So I can sleep in peace tonight _

Later that night, I was sleeping and I had the strangest dream. It was that there was a thunderstorm stirring outside, and I could hear the booms and cracks in the air. And then all of a sudden, I heard a happy laugh, one that sounded like it came from a no gender specifically but from a child. Soft but loud, the voice taunted me, echoing in my head, daring me to chase them. And I did. I began running as fast as I could, all while the voice was yelling, "Come and get me, Felt! Run faster, run faster!" And then they'd shriek with utter delight and giggle when I stumbled and tripped, although I didn't feel any pain when I did. And then suddenly, my bare toes hit something so hard that I cried out at the splitting white-hot pain and collided into the floor, and the giggles from the random child vanished abruptly and I snapped out of my dream and stood up uneasily.

I let out a sigh and it clung to the air. I wasn't in my room anymore. Crickets were chirping mournfully and there was an aged silence that rang in my ears. I sniffed the damp air and realized immediately that I was back in the graveyard. That really spooked me, and I thought that perhaps the child I was chasing was really a ghost or something. I'd never sleepwalked before, either, so this surprised me.

"Hello?" I called out, hoping someone was here in the middle of the night. But there was no answer—only the sound of a crow cawing angrily before fluttering away.

Goosebumps were on my bare arms. It was freezing so terribly that my bones were paining from the chill of the night. I was wishing I was wearing anything but a satin nightgown and pajama slippers because if anyone were to see me…it would cause a lot of trouble. Who knew what creeps were waiting in the night?

My breathing got heavy. What if no one was here? How would I find my way back home? Would I have to stay the night here?

I bit down on my lip, scared. "Hello?" I called out louder. "Anyone there?"

Then, from the distance—"Felt?"

It was a voice I knew all too well. "Dallas?"

I heard footsteps coming closer and closer towards me and I felt mixed emotions. I was happy that Dallas found me, but embarrassed all the while because I was in an exceptionally thin night gown.

"What're you—" he began rudely, but then froze and I felt his eyes on me. "…wearing?" he finished.

I folded my arms over my chest and my face grew hot and I grit my teeth. "I was sleepwalking, okay?"

"Sure," Dally replied sarcastically. "Because people always sleepwalk to graveyards."

"Shut up, Dallas!" I shot back, feeling extremely stupid for no particular reason. Hot tears prickled my face. _Why am I crying? _

"Are you…?" He sighed. "Alright, why are you crying now? Did I hurt your poor little feelings or something? 'Cos I was just kiddin'…"

"What do you mean?" I snapped, rubbing my arms up and down. "You make it sound like I'm always crying."

"Well, you are."

"I'm not!" My teeth were shaking and it was getting harder to breathe—my nose was clogged and when I breathed in the cold air through my mouth, my teeth would feel inexpressible pain.

Dally sighed wearily and began grumbling angrily to himself. And then in an instant, something thick and leathery was thrown at me impatiently. It was a leather jacket that smelled like cologne and wood.

"Put it on," Dallas ordered.

"If you're going to be rude about it, I won't," I replied coolly.

"Fine then, don't," Dally said back, "but when the wind blows your nightgown up, it'll be nothing more than a sight to see."

It was disgusting for him to say, but expected anyways, so I slipped the leather jacket on nonetheless. It was big and if I were indecent I could've worn it alone and it would look like a fancy leather dress with a zipper in the front. I muttered a soft thanks to Dallas and he grunted in response, taking me by my arm and handling me roughly like a doll, pulling me past tombstones.

"What're you doing here anyways?" I asked him.

"I'd ask you the same thing."

"Yesterday was my dad's birthday, so I visited him, but for some reason I dreamt of chasing a child here…and I wound up here."

"Your dad's really dead?" Dallas asked.

"Yeah..."

"Lucky."

I didn't know what to say, so instead I asked, "But really, what are you doing here?"

"I come here every Sunday to arise the dead, stupid."

I actually smiled. "No, really."

"Is it any of your business?" Dally snapped.

"I told you what I was doing here, now it's your turn."

Dally sighed. "I came here to see Johnny."

I stopped walking abruptly.

"What the—" Dally tugged on me to follow him, but I pulled loose.

"Johnny's here?"

"Uh, yeah?" Dallas replied slowly. "His tombstone. The grave. In this cemetery."

My heart started racing. "Take me there."

"_Now?_"

"Please," I begged. I completely forgot that Johnny would probably be here. My heart was beating so hard. I felt this odd excitement, as if Dally had told me Johnny was actually, physically, mentally _here_.

Dally sighed for the umpteenth time. "Alright…"

I took his hand uneasily, and he seemed to hesitate for a moment before leading me back around the graveyard. We walked for what seemed liked forever, the two of us engulfed in the silence of the dead sleeping.

We finally stopped walking and Dally pushed me forward. "There's his tombstone."

My fingers were trembling as I leaned forward to touch the tombstone. It was small, round, and marbled. I ran my fingers all across it and traced the deep engravings of his name: _John 'Johnnycake' Cade. _

I felt my words stuck in my throat. Why did this hurt so much? Because it was so strange to think that the body of the man that I embraced and kissed was beneath the soil that was under my feet…rotting….decaying…being eaten alive by foul insects…

I had an odd flashback in my memory, one of me holding Johnny's hands for the first time. Only this time, I envisioned that when I felt his hands, slimy worms and fast-moving bugs began crawling up my arm. The thought made me shiver with disgust, and I suddenly lost it. I kneeled down on the soil and began digging with my bare hands.

I could hear Dallas shouting at me, "What're you doing? Stop that!" But I didn't care. My Johnny was down there, rotting in the ground, unable to breathe because of the heavy weight of the ground on him.

And then suddenly, everything began swirling around me.

*Dally*

I knew I shouldn't have taken her to Johnny's grave.

I'd seen these things happen before. People go nuts when they're facing grief. It was kind of scary, actually, seeing her thrash around for Johnny in the soil like a madwoman. But she couldn't be going mad. Felt was still sane, but just distressed. Right?

She began screaming as if she were possessed, and her face was red and streaked with tears that gleamed in the moonlight. She started uprooting weeds and patches of grass and clumps of soil.

"Stop that, Felt!" I bent down and swooped an arm around her waist. She was so delicate, like a rag doll, and I was afraid that I would break her ribs if I squeezed too hard. But she soon slipped out of my grasp and whirled around, still on her knees.

"What the hell—?" I stuttered as she placed her hands on my belt and gazed up at me with her sightless eyes.

"Please help him," she pleaded, and I tried step back. "Please, Dallas, help him."

I didn't know what to say. "I—_you _need help!"

She found this funny, maybe a bit too funny. She started chucking softly to herself as she stood up. "I don't need help."

I frowned as she laughed a little harder and knelt down again to pick up more soil. She looked so pitiful…and then I did something I didn't think I would've ever done. I shook her shoulders and her laughter slowly turned into heavy, sane sobs…

*Felt*

…And then suddenly, his arms were around my waist, pulling me close to him, running up to my back, and patting there softly. Dally's hands. _Dallas Winston. _The tough boy. The hood. The one that was mean. The one that jumped kids. Johnny's best friend.

Suddenly, the world seemed so insane that it just had to be real.

I don't know why he did it. Shoot, I don't know why I let him. But for that short moment, we shared something more than existence. We shared grief. I felt like my arms fit perfectly around his neck, like his palm contoured perfectly along my spine, like the crooks of our necks were molded for each other's chins. Nothing was right about what we did, nothing was wrong about it. For one little moment, we were two souls relieving the other of some pain and sorrow. I didn't care if I was soaking his cotton shirt with my tears, or if he was tangling my knotted hair while he stroked it, or for the matter that we both knew we'd never ever speak of this moment ever again. I didn't care, because I was living in that moment alone.

For what seemed like forever, we had been in that embrace, but now we were standing very far apart, only linked by my hand on his arm for guidance.

"You're crazy, you know that?" Dallas had spoken in a coarse voice. I didn't have an answer in on my lips. I guess I really was crazy, because when I knelt down to kiss Johnny's tombstone, I could've sworn my soul that it kissed back.

I followed Dallas all the way back home, where my door was unlocked and my mother was still sleeping. I didn't tell him goodbye, nor did I want to. My speech had been stolen by the awkwardness of what had just happened, the realistic insanity. I'd never know what had gotten hold of Dallas Winston just there...he never seemed like the type to hug a baby, much less me. But it did make me think that something was shuffling in his tough shell, the one that had been bruised beyond feeling, and I now knew what Johnny had seen in Dallas-something that despite being blind, I could finally see, too.

We never mentioned this night again.

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><p><strong>Sorry guys for the reeeeaaallllly long delay. I'm waiting for inspiration to hit me, but if you review some more, it'll come sooner! Oh and do check out my poll!<strong>


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